


Murder at Ephrata

by ama



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Agatha Christie, Crossover, F/M, Gen, M/M, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: The modest country house of Ephrata is where Irene Eddis, Marchioness of Attolia, goes with her husband for some well-deserved peace and quiet. The peace is shattered one evening when one of their guests, the former Mede ambassador, is found stabbed in the library. Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard arrives to investigate and finds a house full of people with motive, opportunity, and secrets they are determined to hide.
Relationships: Attolia | Irene/Eugenides, Eddis | Helen/Sophos, Kamet/Costis Ormentiedes
Comments: 38
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One afternoon I was reflecting on the fact that Nahuseresh has managed to make a personal enemy, as well as a professional one, out of nearly every main character in QT, and realized that made him a perfect murder victim for an Agatha Christie novel. More than a year later, here we are. I've done my best to mimic Christie's style in this fic, including making use of some of her favorite characters archetypes. Sometimes this means tweaking the characters as they're found in QT, but I hope I've managed to strike a balance. Knowledge of Christie's universe is not necessary to understand this fic, however.

**I**

It was June, but even so, the morning dawned cool on Ephrata. A thick blanket of north country cloud blocked the sun, and the sea wind blew with a fierceness that promised rain. The mistress of the estate sat on a stone bench, breathing in the salt-soaked air, and stared out over the crashing waves.

“You weren’t at breakfast.”

The Most Honorable Lady Irene Eddis, 10th Marchioness Attolia, turned to find her husband scrambling nimbly up the cliffside path. He fell onto the bench beside her.

“I didn’t think you would be there this early.”

“Am I insufficiently punctual for you, my lady?”

Irene did not dignify that with a response. Eugenides held out a napkin tied into a knot, and Irene tugged it open to reveal two crumpets, spread liberally with butter and blackberry jam. Her stomach grumbled, and she accepted one. It was sticky.

“Helen ’phoned,” Eugenides said as he took a bite. “She and Sophos are coming by train. They expect to be in at 12:27 and would love to have lunch, if we could wait for them. Sejanus is motoring up, so the timing is less certain, but sometime this afternoon.”

“And…?”

“The 5:15 train,” he said in a lofty voice.

A dollop of jam fell onto his trousers, and he brushed it off with his right forearm—a somewhat clumsy maneuver, made necessary by the fact that he was missing a hand. Irene tore her gaze away from the sea and turned her keen grey eyes on her husband. His face was blank, with the barest hint of a smile.

“My lord,” she said rigidly. He peered up at her. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing at all, my dear.”

He stood and proffered his arm. Irene slipped her hand through his elbow, and they returned to the house in silence.

**II**

“Irene!” Helen said warmly as she dismounted from the train.

“Darling,” Irene said in her usual crisp voice, but there was a glimmer of joy in her eyes as she bent down to kiss her friend on the cheek. “How was the train? Dreadful, I except.”

“Not as bad as all that,” Sophos said, juggling the luggage. He ducked his head. “Lady Attolia.”

“Mr. Sounis,” she replied with a grave nod.

“Oh, don’t let’s stand on ceremony,” Helen said, digging her elbow into her fiancé’s side. He dropped a bag. “We’ll all be family soon enough, won’t we? Speaking of which, where is my irascible cousin?”

“Oh, whoever knows,” Irene dismissed. She took Helen’s elbow as they turned, and the crowd parted before her like waves around a battleship. “I thought I’d take the car out to meet you myself, seeing as we’re shorthanded at the house. I looked for him, but he must have gone out.”

Her lovely ivory forehead creased, and Helen bit back a smile. She was very familiar with that look. She didn’t envy the marchioness the responsibility of managing Eugenides. It had been her job for many years, and it was a bloody thankless one.

“You look troubled, dear.”

“Mm.” Irene glanced over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about Sophos. Eminently harmless.”

“Quite.” She sighed heavily. “I suspect he’s plotting. My husband, that is.”

“I _know_ your husband is plotting.”

Irene didn’t startle easily, but her gaze was suddenly sharp as she looked at Helen.

“Did he tell you about it?”

“No,” Helen said slowly. “I was assuming. What makes you think this is any more to it than his usual tricks?”

“Nothing, I suppose.”

They had reached the car. Irene tugged at her riding gloves and put on a pair of sunglasses. She called out to Sophos casually to tell him there was plenty of room in the boot, and Sophos obliged, packing their luggage in securely. Helen felt a sudden rush of fondness. Dear Sophos—always so eager to be of assistance. A pity that he was stuck in the office so much, waited on and “yes sir”ed and “no sir”ed all day—he had been infinitely happier as a poor scholar. On the other hand, it _was_ lovely to have a wealthy man adopting Labour-friendly policies in the public eye. Really, it was proof of his essential kindness, but also good for politics. One or two of her more radical colleagues might turn up their noses, but—well, tough. Her constituents liked him very much, and so did she.

“Nahuseresh is coming,” Irene said as she shifted the car into gear.

“Is he?”

“Yes. Remind me again, have you met him?”

“Yes—briefly. I was invited to a to-do at the Mede embassy a few weeks ago. Sophos came with me, didn’t you, darling?”

“Oh, yes,” Sophos said. “Unpleasant fellow. I heartily disliked him.”

“Oh, I don’t think that was ever in doubt,” Irene said in a dry voice. Sophos flushed.

“What do you mean?”

A tiny smirk took its place on Irene’s face and the car barreled around the rolling country hills. Helen tilted her head to catch the sea breeze and laughed.

“Only that you agree with Gen on every possible point, dear,” she said. “So it is no surprise you would adopt his enemies as your own.”

“Not on _every_ point,” he said, incensed. “I—well, I’m positively terrified of Irene, for one!”

Irene chuckled—a low, pleasant laugh that had charmed many a gentleman.

“So is Eugenides, on days when he is being insolent and I am in a foul mood.”

“So are we all,” Helen smiled.

They were quiet as they approached Ephrata. It was a gloomy sort of house, Helen always thought—nothing like Irene’s picture-perfect Devon estate that positively glittered in the summer sunlight. Ephrata was a stone house, darkened with sea-grime, ivy, and time. The bones of it were hundreds and hundreds of years old, but the whims of a Regency-era ancestor had led to its being redecorated in the Greek style—gables and towers pruned away, leaving a solid, square edifice ringed with columns. Some had called it ugly; nevertheless, Helen thought it had charm. She knew Irene was very fond of it. In her youth, when the family fortune had been on the wane, the Devon house had been let and the family retreated to its ancestral seat here in Cumbria, with occasional forays toIndia when even this was too close to creditors. Helen, herself, would have preferred this gloomy, quiet house to the confined society of colonial politics, and she fancied her friend felt the same.

“I didn’t know you were interested in Mede business, Helen,” Irene said as they climbed out of the car. Costis was there in a flash, to help Sophos with the luggage. Helen greeted him with a smile and he ducked his head in a polite bow.

“We all need to be, these days, don’t we?” Helen said vaguely. She spotted a familiar silhouette through the open door and flung up her arm. “Eugenides, you rascal! _There_ you are!”

As she trotted forward to greet her cousin, she felt Irene’s eyes boring through the back of her head.

**III**

Sejanus Erondites barrelled around the winding roads of the north country. He was in good humor, even with such a destination. Five days on the peninsula, suffering through the dull stares of the marchioness and the witticisms of her husband, and hardly any entertainment at all. Talking politics with the lady MP would be a dreadful bore, and Sounis hardly liked to talk politics at all—he turned the conversation to stuffy old books at the slightest provocation.

Well, he thought with some satisfaction, he’d find his own way of entertaining himself, wouldn’t he? He glanced at the bag sitting on the passenger seat. There was a lump in the top pocket. He patted the little glass bottle with one hand and smiled out at the road…

**IV**

Phresine stood at the head of the kitchen table with her hands behind her back, observing the room before her with all the dignity of a queen. The kitchen was not, strictly speaking, her domain—that honor belonged to Onarkus. But the house in Ephrata was used only on occasion, so Onarkus, the parlour maid, and the kitchen maid were all dailies, hired on for only a few months at a time. In the cook’s case, paid quite handsomely. But they did not have the status of Phresine and Costis, who were Part Of The Household. As long as they didn’t lord it over the others, their authority went unquestioned.

Gennie, the kitchen maid, was carefully arranging tea cakes on a platter as Onarkus fussed with the last of the sandwiches. Eileen had no doubt come down for a good chat, but at Phresine’s appearance she had hastily busied herself with the kettle and teapot.

“Eileen,” she said suddenly. “You did ready the green room already, did you not? Mr. Nahuseresh’s train may not be arriving until after five, but we must be prepared.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t know why _he_ should get that room,” Costis remarked from where he was leaning against the counter, eyeing the tea-tray. “It’s by far the most comfortable. Ought to go to Lady Helen—her being family, and an MP at that! And a titled lady, too.”

“A courteously-titled lady only, since her father died,” Phresine said, amused at the manservant’s sulkiness. “Lady Helen is in the room across the hall, which is perfectly comfortable. Mr. Nahuseresh, as I understand, has some form of title in his own country, too, and is accustomed to… shall we say a certain level of hospitality. Her ladyship wanted to be accommodating. Speaking of which, what are you doing, Costis?”

“His lordship said he wouldn’t need me until tea,” he said innocently.

“Of course. And is it at _all_ possible that you chose to lurk in here with no occupation whatsoever because you wanted to avoid helping Mr. Erondites with his bags?”

Costis grinned at her, unrepentant.

“Teleus doesn’t like him either. Between him and Nahuseresh it will be a rotten week.”

“ _Really_. There is entirely too much nursing of grudges in this household.”

“What’s so wrong with Mr. Erondites, anyway?” Eileen piped up as she poured boiling water into the teapot. “Saw his picture in the paper, I did, when he got a medal. Looked ever so gallant.”

“Just because a man’s got manners doesn’t mean his morals are all there,” Costis sniffed. “He’s nasty to his lordship, and he’d ruin her ladyship with a snap of his fingers if he could, you mark my words.”

“He is also our _guest_ ,” Phresine said pointedly. She glanced at the clock. “Gennie, it’s time—take the first tray in, please. Costis, make yourself useful and fetch his lordship _and_ Mr. Erondites. And remember: the best revenge is living well.”

**V**

“My _dear_ marchioness,” Nahuseresh exclaimed with a smile, striding into the drawing room.

It was the early evening, and the room was bathed in golden sunlight that gleamed in the folds of Lady Attolia’s red evening dress. She was by far the most alluring thing in the room, which was otherwise drab and hopelessly English, from the beige furniture with its faded embroidery to the cluster of men in nondescript black and white—and the one other woman among them dressed in a supremely unflattering pale pink gown. No sense of style, no flair for the dramatic. Except the marchioness, with her ivory skin and jet-black hair complemented by her dress, her ruby earrings, and a smear of scarlet lipstick. How lovely she looked, even if he did hate her.

Her hard face softened with a smile, and she proffered a hand for him to kiss and clutch to his chest.

“It has been too long, Lady Attolia.”

“Has it been, Nahuseresh?” she asked lightly. “It seems like barely a moment since we last met. You remember my husband? Eugenides—”

She turned, and if Nahuseresh did not deceive himself, her expression tightened. Regret, no doubt, that she had been forced to leash herself to this impudent whelp. He was strewn across a divan, smoking a cigarette and rumpling his suit.

“Of course, of course,” Nahuseresh said with an eminently correct bow.

“Nahuseresh,” Eddis said disdainfully. “Trouble with the trains? Only you’re quite nearly late for dinner.”

“Yes, the trains were absolutely dreadful. Why, this little house seems to be in the furthest corner from civilization,” he chuckled. “Perhaps I could borrow your manservant to help me dress.”

A stocky oaf standing by the window took a reluctant step forward, but Eddis merely exhaled a mouthful of smoke.

“No.”

Nahuseresh was momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of the reply, and the lord gave a smirk of childish delight.

“No?”

“I’m afraid we live very simply here, so far away from civilization,” he said breezily. “The custom in this house is that Costis helps to dress men with one hand. Men with two make do on their own.” He paused to enjoy the effect of his words, and then waved around the room. “I expect you know everyone already.”

“Indeed.”

A round of murmured greetings were exchanged, and Sejanus Erondites stepped forward to shake his hand.

“Oh, and my secretary, Kamet Edai,” Nahuseresh added as an afterthought. “We will be down quite shortly—Kamet, you’ll have to help me dress.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Although if we are to carry all our own bags, we shall be _quite_ late for dinner,” he said meaningfully. Eugenides rolled his eyes and waved the manservant forward. “In the entryway,” Nahuseresh said with a flick of his hand as they made their way up the staircase.

When they reached the first floor, he turned automatically down the hall, to the rooms they had occupied on their previous stay. The best guest room, supposedly, although how one could tell, he didn’t know. Kamet was in a smaller room beside it, with a connecting door.

Nahuseresh flung his coat carelessly on the floor and stamped into the ensuite bath. He regarded himself in the mirror as he stripped off his soiled shirt and washed his face. He looked tired and ill-tempered, and felt it, too. But he took a deep breath and smoothed back his hair and endeavored to look unbothered. He had thought it a pity, at first, when he learned this was to be the place—Eugenides was nothing more than the jumped-up son of an earl dancing on someone else’s strings, but he could be so very trying. Yet the more he thought about it, the more fitting it seemed. Lady Attolia and her husband had been the reason for his exile. And now, under their very noses, he would set the ground for his triumphant return.

“Kamet,” he called. “Did you pack the new _eu du cologne_? The stuff from Paris?” He paused, waiting for a reply, but there was none. “Kamet?” he repeated impatiently.

“Yes,” Kamet said in a distant voice. “I—”

Nahuseresh glanced over his shoulder, and felt a spike of rage pierce his stomach. Kamet was staring down at a thick sheaf of fifty-pound notes in his hand. Nahuseresh’s open briefcase, half unpacked, sat on the bed behind him.

“Presumptuous fool,” Nahuseresh hissed. “Who the devil told you to go through that?”

He snatched the notes away and threw them back in the briefcase, slamming it closed. Kamet tried to stammer out an apology, but Nahuseresh backhanded him without thinking and the secretary stumbled.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he mumbled as he straightened, one hand clutching his cheek. “I only thought—”

“That’s always the trouble, isn’t it?” he interrupted cuttingly. “You _think_ too much. Do try not to be so abysmally stupid in the future.”

There was a cough. Nahuseresh looked over to find the hulking manservant, glaring at him. He dropped the luggage in the doorway.

“Best hurry,” he grunted. “You’ll be late, and his lordship doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Far be it for me to cause _his lordship_ any distress,” Nahuseresh drawled. He tugged at his lapels and returned to the bathroom. “Hurry up, Kamet. I have plans for this week, and I should like everything to go perfectly.”


	2. Chapter 2

Normally, Ephrata was as silent as the grave at this hour of the morning, but on Saturday, General Teleus was awoken by the gentle tapping of a parlourmaid. Not on his door, but not far away, either. Yawning, he climbed out of bed and wrapped himself in a dressing gown. He opened the door and blinked away the darkness of the hallway.

“Mrs. Phresine?” the parlourmaid called softly, knocking on the door again. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“What’s the trouble?” he asked.

The maid jumped.

“Oh, sir! It’s Mrs. Phresine—she’s overslept. Never known her to do that, sir. I don’t know if p’raps she’s been taken ill. Only…” Her eyes flickered to the door across the hall. “I shouldn’t like to wake his lordship and her ladyship, sir, and I don’t know _what_ to do…”

The servant’s quarters in Ephrata were on the second floor, but they had been shut up for some years, now that the family relied on dailies. And Phresine, of course, toed the line between family and servant anyway. Her room was the smallest on the floor, but it was directly across from her mistress’s.

Well, Teleus couldn’t be dismissed for awakening the marchioness too early. He rapped his fist against the door. There was a moment’s pause and then a faint voice.

“Yes, one moment…”

Phresine came to the door, enveloped in a frilly dressing gown. She blinked owlishly up at Teleus, then the parlourmaid.

“General… Eileen… is something the matter?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Eileen said, wide-eyed. “Only it’s quarter past and I was worried you were ill.”

“No, thank you, Eileen,” Phresine said, struggling to speak around a yawn. “Just—very tired. Dear me. I slept quite heavily last night.”

“Why don’t you go down and put on a nice pot of coffee,” Teleus suggested, and the parlourmaid bobbed in a curtsy.

“Yes, sir.”

She disappeared down the hall.

“I hope the girl didn’t wake you, general.”

“No, no,” Teleus assured her. “I’m always awake at this hour. My knees are prone to cracking—a nice brisk walk in the morning keeps them from getting too stiff during the day.”

They empathized for a moment about the unstoppable march of time, and then returned to their respective rooms to dress. By the time Teleus emerged again, the house was back to its usual morning peace. He went down to the dining room and found a pot of coffee on the sideboard. Good, strong coffee. He smacked his lips in approval as he watched the first pale rays of sun struggle over the lawn. When he had finished, he set the cup aside and strode out of the house.

Ephrata was a small property. It had once included a good bit of the nearby village, but it had been sold off in parcels by previous lords and ladies. Now it was composed primarily of a little peninsula that jutted out into the sea. There was a kitchen garden, a small wood, and a lawn that led up to the sea cliffs. Teleus circled the house once at a vigorous pace, and then paused at the bench overlooking the sea.

As he turned, he was startled by a flash of movement. Not the movement of a tree branch swaying in the wind, or a sparrow taking flight—but a flash of red, inconspicuous in the brightening dawn. His first instinct was to call out, but he suppressed it and squinted across the dewy lawn. It was a red dressing-gown. Ostentatious, thick with embroidery even from this distance. _Nahuseresh,_ Teleus thought, scowling. He took a step closer, trying to satisfy his curiosity without being forced to greet the man.

There was a small shed in the corner of the lawn, meant to hold sporting goods and gardening equipment, and Nahuseresh was just exiting it. If Teleus squinted, he could see a grin on the Mede’s face. An unpleasant sort of grin, Teleus thought. It got his blood up. He lingered for a moment, bracing himself to say good morning, but it was not necessary—Nahuseresh went straight back to the house and let himself in through a side door.

Teleus glanced at the shed. Why should Nahuseresh be interested in inspecting it—just past dawn, at that? It was a shabby, dirty thing, of very little interest to a man like that. He strolled across the lawn and opened the door. He peered through the gloom. A croquet set, fishing tackle, badminton racquets, and a collection of dirty shovels, trowels, and rakes. Nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing that might tempt Nahuseresh out of his bed so early.

As he closed the door, his eye was caught by a carving in the wood. A rough crown and a square letter H. A child’s game, Teleus thought, a smile tugging at his mouth as he pictured some young master (Henry, or Harry, perhaps) playing king and knights and hiding out in the garden shed.

“Teleus!” 

He was caught off-guard, but his instincts served him well, and he didn’t startle. He squinted in the sunlight and saw Irene walking towards him.

“Good morning,” he said with a bow. Irene smiled and slipped her arm through his.

“What on earth are you doing in this heap?”

“Looking around,” he said vaguely. “You haven’t any cricket equipment.”

“Heavens, no. We’re too close to the sea—the amount we’d spend on balls each year would be horrid.”

They strolled around the lawn leisurely for a moment, then turned in to the kitchen garden. The smell of breakfast being prepared wafted out into the air.

“Irene,” Teleus said abruptly. “Why is Nahuseresh here?”

It was the wrong question. Irene’s expression cooled, her mouth forming a thin line, and she turned her face away, towards the sea.

“Has he been disagreeable?”

“No—well, not more than usual. But I don’t understand why he was invited in the first place. He and Eddis have been at loggerheads for two days straight. Damned unpleasant.”

“Since when have you taken Eugenides’s side in anything?” she asked dryly.

“I’m an old-fashioned sort,” Teleus said in a gruff voice, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “I believe in—er—domestic peace, say. Harmony between husband and wife. And what with this being Eddis’s house and all—”

“His house and castle. I understand.” For a moment, her coldness melted away as Irene let out a soft, startled laugh. “Dear Teleus. You don’t think—really. Were I inclined to have an affair, please allow that I am far too intelligent to invite my lover to my own house, in such an out-of-the-way place among such a small party.”

Teleus stuttered out apologies, denials, and excuses, and Irene kissed him fondly on his brick-red cheek.

“He’s only staying a week,” she said with an elegant shrug of her shoulder. “Don’t worry—just a few more days and we’ll have the house to ourselves again.”

***

Kamet, against his will, had made a friend on this wretched jaunt north. He supposed it couldn’t be helped—Costis had reached Nahuseresh’s room at precisely the wrong moment that very first night, and an Englishman of that type was always inclined to play gallant. The next day, Kamet had tried to stow away for a moment with a slim volume of Enoclitus, but Lord Eugenides had popped up hardly a moment later with his manservant bobbing at his heels like a puppy. The lord had displayed a surprising knowledge of ancient poetry, as a matter of fact—he was an irreverent clown with appalling manners, but not entirely uneducated.

Costis had contributed little to that first conversation, but it was enough to start an acquaintance. If Kamet were being honest, there was a certain kinship between them. Not servants on the level of the palourmaids, but not quite guests, either. On more than one occasion they passed each other in the halls and exchanged rueful looks as Kamet went to fetch a snack from the kitchen and Costis rushed to get a spot out of a coat that his lordship simply _must_ wear for dinner. That was the sort of familiarity that might arise in any house in the country. Costis went a step farther, however, in tracking down Kamet in the library.

There was a very nice library in Ephrata. Small, but comfortable, with a large desk and antique leather chairs, well-stocked shelves, and windows with thick velvet curtains well-insulated against the ocean damp. It was conveniently across from Nahuseresh’s rooms, too, which meant that when Nahuseresh dismissed him, Kamet could bury himself in the library with his book and be near at hand. He took his chances often, and Costis quickly cottoned on to the pattern.

“How are you getting on?” Costis asked Saturday after lunch, examining the clock on the mantlepiece with his hands in his pockets.

“Very well. Better without you looming.”

“I’ll sit down. I’ll loom less sitting down.”

“You wouldn’t loom at all in another part of the house.”

“But then wouldn’t you miss me?”

Kamet declined to answer. He flipped to a new page in his thick, leather-bound notebook. On the left-hand pages were neatly printed words in old Ensur, his own transcription of all the canonical Immakuk and Ennikar tablets and several he thought had been overlooked. On the right were translations, blotted and scratched out with question marks and alternate words scattered across the page.

“Will you read me some?”

“No,” he said shortly.

“Why not? The bit you read yesterday was jolly good.”

“I know it was. But…” Kamet cleared his throat. “All of the current English translations of the Immakuk and Ennikar stories, and many of the Mede ones… abridge certain passages. I think to do so is akin to academic fraud—it is one thing to possess modern morals, another to judge the ancients by those standards, and another altogether to pretend that the ancients possessed similar morals and deliberately falsify any evidence that points otherwise. My translation will be complete. But that does not mean all parts are fit to be read aloud in polite society.”

“Ah. Ennikar and a maid?”

“No.”

Kamet bent further over the book to hide his blush—the knowledge that Costis was almost certainly blushing as well was little comfort.

“Oh.”

There was a pause that went on some minutes. When Costis spoke again, with voice was hesitant, uneasy.

“Kamet? We are friends, aren’t we?”

 _Against my better judgement,_ Kamet almost said, but he bit it back at the last moment.

“I suppose so.”

“Well then, as a friend—how can you _stand_ working for Nahuseresh? He’s a right brute.”

“He’s a powerful man,” Kamet said absently. “They’re all brutes. Besides, I’m under contract.”

“Oh, rotten luck,” Costis said, striking a match to light a cigarette. “Is it a long one?”

“Mm. Ten years.”

Costis’s jaw dropped, and he swore as his cigarette toppled down onto his jacket. He brushed at his front.

“That’s ghastly. I’ve never heard of something like that—and how much have you got left?”

“I meant I’ve got ten years left,” Kamet corrected in a curt voice, and Costis went red from pure indignation. He was still trying to form words when Kamet looked up, sighed, and set down his pen. “I was apprenticed to his family when I was young. My mother couldn’t afford my schooling, and the Nahuseresh family could—and then, when I approached the proper age, offered to pay for university as well, if I agreed to sign a contract. Perfectly reasonable. I am valuable, you see—and so is a university degree, even some years later. It was a fair trade.”

“And how old were you, when you were apprenticed?”

Kamet picked up the pen again, but the words danced in front of his eyes, and he struggled to find his place. His pen traced a wobbly circle in the margin of the paper to give the illusion of productivity.

“Seven or eight. I’m not sure.”

“That’s slavery,” Costis blurted out.

“And yet, should we compare wages, I doubt the difference would be very great.”

“You’ll have spent near thirty years of your life in service to one family, with no option to leave—that’s near enough to make no difference. _I_ could leave if I wanted.”

“And yet you don’t.”

“My employer is a good man, and don’t tell me you can say the same. I was there—I saw. You should leave straight away. I’m sure a good lawyer could get you out of your contract.”

Kamet rolled his eyes. He stood and crossed the room to look out at the window, gazing at the endless grey sky.

“Oh yes, a foreigner with no references and no work history except for a broken contract is sure to have plenty of job prospects. No, it’s not worth it. I’m earning a living, and that’s what matters. I’ve got to play the hand I’m dealt,” he murmured, more to himself than anything else.

“You could stay here.”

Kamet laughed, and Costis winced. He stood and put a hand in his pocket.

“What, with Lord Eugenides? He hasn’t a secretary now, so I don’t see him taking one on out of charity—and even if he did, I think I might strangle him.”

“With good reason. But that’s not what I was referring to.” He walked over to join Kamet at the window. The words coming out of his mouth had startled him, but he was standing by them, and there was a determined set to his jaw. “I mean… stay here, with me, and I’ll look after you. You can write your book and eventually it’ll sell—and if it doesn’t, well, I’ve got enough to live on. It’s not extravagant, but— and— and you’re quite alone in the world, aren’t you, so—” He reached for Kamet’s hand, and at the last second diverted to cup his elbow instead. “It would be nice, won’t it, to have someone to rely on?”

For a moment, Kamet was silent, looking up at him. He had dismissed Costis almost the moment he saw him as an oaf, someone who was good enough for following orders and not much else. There was still no flash of brilliance in his pale eyes, but there was warmth and sense and surety, and for a moment he thought _yes… yes, to have someone on whom I could rely… how wonderful that would be…._

Then, abruptly, he yanked his arm back and drew away, returning to the desk.

“How like an Englishman,” he said coldly. “The arrogance—to assume that freedom and morals and good sense reside with you alone—as if a poor colonial couldn’t possibly be relied upon to determine the course of his own life—”

“Hang on,” Costis said, face turning red. “That’s not what I meant to say. I only wanted to give you a choice. I want you to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy.”

Costis stared at him for a long minute. Finally, he nodded and mumbled something about a walk. He left the room, and Kamet dropped into the chair and rubbed wearily at his temple. He was lying, of course. He knew it. And he had the dreadful, undeniable suspicion that Costis knew it, too.

***

Sophos whistled to himself as he strode up the long path to Ephrata. It was a trek from Ephrata to the village and its little lending library, but he enjoyed it. The air here was so clear, and wonderfully bracing. Besides, there was going to be a thunderstorm in the evening, so he might as well get his exercise now—that was the only topic of conversation in the village today, as far as he had heard.

As he approached, he spotted Irene and Eugenides lingering by the wood. He waved a hand in greeting, but neither of them looked up. He turned his gaze towards the door instead, and then pulled up short just in time to keep from crashing into Nahuseresh.

“Oh, er—hello.”

“Mr. Sounis,” the Mede said with an over-friendly smile. “Good afternoon.”

“Afternoon. Out for a stroll, were you?”

“Yes, dear Irene—excuse me, Lady Attolia—was just showing me the little wood. Wild, but charming in its own way, I suppose.”

“Yes. Good to get out a bit before the storm.”

There was a pause. Courtesy dictated that they walk in together, Sophos thought miserably, but he couldn’t think of anything more to say, and to walk in silence would be frightfully awkward. Something about Nahuseresh’s attitude, the superciliousness in his tone and his smile, made it almost impossible to have good manners in return. To be polite felt like giving in; Sophos would _much_ rather be rude. Not being rude by nature, he suffered.

“Good day, Mr. Sounis,” Nahuseresh said pointedly, stepping aside, and Sophos passed by, relieved, with a jerky nod.

He went directly upstairs. He liked this house. It was smallish, as country manors went, but comfortable and laid out very simply. Nothing like the ostentatious country house his uncle had left him, which was a very old building, a rabbit’s warren practically, that had been thoroughly modernised in the worst way. Very good bathrooms and not an ounce of taste. He much preferred his house in London, which anyway was closer to the House of Commons and his friends in the museum and Helen’s constituency. Hopefully, they would make that their primary _pied a terre,_ although of course they would have to visit Helen’s part of the world with some frequency. He would have to ask her.

Lost in his thoughts, Sophos entered the guest room. He draped his jacket over a chair, tossed his books on the bed, and sat down to change out of his boots—and spotted something glinting beneath the dresser. He knelt down and reached underneath it. When he drew his hand back, he found a cufflink. He frowned. It was his cufflink. He stood again and opened the top drawer. The cufflink’s twin rattled in its little box, where it ought to be, where he had placed it two nights ago. They had both been there, and he was positive he hadn’t opened this drawer at all since… 

His gaze fell on the other things in the drawer—the other set of cufflinks, the wristwatch, the battered antique pocket-watch, a few loose bowties and handkerchiefs, and a packet of letters tied with ribbon. The knot was entirely wrong—really quite sloppy. A flush rose on his cheeks. He untied the ribbon and flicked through the envelopes. Yes, they were all here—out of order, though, and the little nick on the corner of one envelope was a full tear now. Someone had been going through his things.

Well, he had nothing to hide. Why should he be ashamed of his letters? Everything was quite aboveboard—he and Helen were going to be married soon, amd there was no spurned lover or former spouse lurking in the distance. The letters were tame, Helen not being the sort to add flowery language or sordid details to her correspondence, beyond the occasional “you dear, sweet man.” (His letters to her might be a tad bit more embarrassing, but there was no question of scandal.)

And so his embarrassment quickly transformed into anger. Sophos wasn’t quick to anger, but he was not the pushover some thought he was. Oh no—the members of his board could tell you that, not that anyone would listen! Who the hell had been going through his things—and what for?

 _Gen,_ he thought darkly. _Any sort of funny business in the house and he’ll be at the bottom of it... or at least he’ll know who is. What is it Magus says? A viper! Yes, quite the little viper!_

He replaced the letters in the drawer and flung open the door to the hallway, determined to find his friend and confront him—and then he halted. Sejanus Erondites was standing across the hall, with his hand on the doorknob to Eugenides’s room.

“Erondites?”

Sejanus looked over his shoulder with an easy smile.

“Blasted thing’s stuck,” he said cheerfully. “Must have locked it by accident, although I can’t think how—”

“That’s not your room.” Sophos pointed at the door beside it. “That’s yours.”

“Oh! Stupid of me.” Sejanus chuckled to himself and turned the knob; the door opened easily. “Gloomy in the halls here, isn’t it? I say—care for a drink? I’ve got a flask of something strong and Irish.”

“No. No, thank you. I, er, promised Helen I’d find her before dinner.”

There was a flash of contempt on Sejanus’s face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by an easy smile. He shrugged and slipped a hand in his pocket.

“Suit yourself.”

He strode down the grand staircase. Sophos looked at the door for a moment, and then the one beside it, thinking...

***

Nahuseresh was in an excellent mood. Not even the inelegant needling of the insufferable lord of the house, or the grim faces of those two Army men (unlike each other but identical), could put him off. He wandered around the house, enjoying his own sense of superiority over the grimy rooms with their old furniture and insipid paintings, until he reached the telephone in the hallway and decided it would be an excellent time to make a call.

He would put it through the embassy, he thought, instead of sending the long-distance wire himself. Perfectly reasonable thing to do—wire the embassy to get a message to the PM—and then that snake Melheret would know about his success. He’d be furiously jealous, but it served him right. He was smiling to himself as he picked up the phone and as the operator put him through to the embassy.

“Hallo—yes, who is this? Ah, good. I need to send a telegram to Ianna-Ir straight away. Yes—yes, it’s done. The message is ‘All is done. I will travel back within a fortnight. Shall prove even more useful than we thought.’ Who do you think? To my brother, you silly fool… Yes, I’m sure the emperor wants many things, and my brother will provide him with all he needs to know, when the time comes. And Ansel, send that express, and have the embassy cover the expense. I’m sure Ambassador Melheret will be happy to do so, if you ask him.”

He replaced the phone in its cradle and strode down the corridor. One hand touched the inner pocket of his jacket, and there was the soft crinkling of paper. He was still smiling, and so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t so much as nod to Sejanus as he passed him on the stairs.

***

On a pleasant summer evening, the drawing room was quite the loveliest room in the house, with its large, south-facing windows that bathed the room in light without blinding its occupants. Tonight, the windows were pounded with an unceasing deluge of rain, and there was nothing to see beyond the gloom.

“Dear, dear,” Irene murmured as they entered, after dinner. “I do hope Gennie and Onarkus get home all right.”

“Oh, yes, my lady, they’ll be fine. I sent Gennie home after the main course, and I gave Onarkus fare for a taxi before he left.”

“Excellent. Whatever should we do without you, Phresine”

“Very well, I expect. Would anyone like a cup of coffee?”

The guests settled themselves around the drawing room. Kamet, Sophos, and Helen accepted the offered coffee. Teleus and Costis wandered over to the windows and began talking about the storm in a masculine fashion—speculating on the amount of rain it was dropping and the likely duration of its efforts and comparing it to other storms in ages and places past.

“Think how disappointed they will be if it does not last for forty days and forty nights,” Sejanus commented, and despite herself, Irene’s lips twitched in a smile.

“I do not understand the fuss over such a thing as rain,” Nahuseresh said, gesturing at the window as if he could flick the clouds away. “This is England—there is always rain. One might as well remark on having air to breathe.”

“What—Nahuseresh, are you not grateful every minute you’re breathing?” Eugenides said with wide, innocent eyes. “I certainly should be, were I you.”

Irene slipped her legs to one side and, hidden beneath the folds of her dress, trod on her husband’s foot. Eugenides only smiled.

“Lady Attolia,” Phresine said, standing. “Will you be needing anything else tonight? Otherwise I think I might turn in early.”

“No, thank you, Phresine, we will manage quite well. Good night.”

Phresine made her farewells, and Eugenides strutted up to the bar table like a diva to the opera stage. He removed the top from the cocktail shaker and flipped it over his fingers.

“Now then,” he said. “My lady has furnished the coffee—would anyone care for something stronger?”

“Dare I?” Helen said dryly.

“Thank you, Helen dearest, for volunteering as my test subject. Costis, the champagne.”

Costis popped the bottle as Eugenides filled the shaker with gin, ice, and lemon and juggled it, to indulgent amusement from half the guests, superiority from most of the others, and blatant admiration from Sophos.

“Remchik and soda will do for me, thank you,” Nahuseresh said, waving aside the glass Costis tried to offer him.

“I dare say it will. Costis, getch Nahuseresh with his drink, will you. It requires little in the way of artistry.”

“Of course, m’lord.”

The remchik had been purchased and transported by Nahuseresh. Irene wondered idly how much money he spent importing luxuries from the Mede Empire. It must be a frightful amount; on his last visit to Ephrata he had needed very little prodding to describe in detail the rugs, the sofas, the fine statuettes he was ordering for his flat in London. But then, she thought, pressing her lips together, he had been in favor then, with a happy and none-too-demanding wife. His lifestyle must have altered since.

Costis poured soda and a generous portion of remchik, added a twist of lemon, and handed Nahuseresh his drink. The Mede paused, watching the heavy-cut glass sparkle in the light, and then his eyes flickered to Irene and he bestowed upon her a gallant smile.

“My dear marchioness, you were so very fond of remchik when last we met.”

“I’m afraid you exaggerate, sir,” she said with a placid smile in return. “I have an amateur appreciation only; it is rather an acquired taste.”

“Please.” He held out his glass. “Do take the opportunity increase your appreciation.”

Eugenides held out a champagne glass with a flourish.

“Irene is more fond of a French 75.”

There was a pause. Sejanus looked thoroughly amused; Sophos was glaring daggers at Nahuseresh. Irene allowed the moment to linger, like silence after the clap of thunder. Then her fingers closed around the stem of the glass.

“I’m afraid my husband is quite right. I _am_ more fond of a cocktail.”

Nahuseresh’s lip curled for just a moment before he bowed his head and sipped his drink. Costis passed around the rest of the drinks. Teleus did his best not to turn up hs nose and glanced longingly at the whisky bottle, and Irene hid a smile. After a moment, he coughed.

“Here, Eddis—I don’t suppose you’ll be needing Costis all night? I thought of getting a round of billiards going.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Teleus. It is good to keep Costis around. He’s the only one who is obligated to indulge my various whims.”

“Eugenides, if you can’t spare Costis for an hour to play a rack of billiards, he will just as soon leave us and get a new position,” Irene commented.

“Nonsense! Costis is far too loyal, aren’t you Costis?”

“I don’t like to say no, my lord, but I don’t like to contradict her ladyship.”

There was a round of laughter—Irene wasn’t sure if Costis had intended there to be or not, but his face betrayed no embarrassment.

“You make an excellent point. Very well, since my lady has a whim to see her guests enjoy a rousing rack of billiards, let us indulge her.”

“Excellent,” Teleus said crisply. “Sounis, Erondites, care to join?”

Sophos agreed and Sejanus declined, and the masculine party left for the other side of the house. Nahuseresh, too, seemed anxious to leave. He looked at the clock several times and let a few borderline rude comments from Eugenides pass without any remark. Finally, he finished his drink and stood, clearing his throat.

“Excuse me, dear marchioness. I have some business to take care of, if I might make use of your library.”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. Kamet, I may want you later.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dear, dear,” Helen murmured when he left. “Are _all_ the gentlemen to abandon us this evening?”

“Don’t worry, Helen,” Eugenides said cheerfully. “I’ve told Irene many times that if she wants me gone, she’ll have to beat me with a stick. She has been sorely tempted at times, but not, I think, tonight.”

“Don’t push, dear.”

What followed was not the most thrilling conversation of Irene’s life. They discussed the storm again and and debated its effect on the roads. Sejanus opined for a little while about cars, the best models and the preferred road conditions, etc. They were all fidgety. Irene found herself glancing at the clock more often than was polite; Kamet downed a cup of coffee and left for a few minutes to bring one to Nahuseresh, and Sejanus circled the room twice. Finally, the rain abated for a moment, and Eugenides declared his intention to go out for a smoke.

“Really, Eugenides,” Irene said, pursing her lips. “You’ll be soaked to the bone.”

“No, no, I think we’ll have a break for a few moments. And think, my dear—if I’m wrong, you’ll get to reprimand me.”

“I wish I could reprimand you less,” she snapped, forgetting herself. She pressed her lips together and looked away, hoping the heat on her cheeks wasn’t visible to others. Eugenides kissed her cheekbone, and she knew it was a false hope.

“Little chance of that.”

He left the room. Kamet and Sejanus were trying not to look at her, while Helen looked at her with deep empathy. Irene rolled her eyes, and Helen nodded—and then shivered.

“Chilly evening, isn’t it?” she said.

“I’m sorry—perhaps we ought to light the fire—”

“No, no. There’s no cause to light a fire in June. Absurd! It’s only that my dress is lighter than yours. Stupid me, forgetting the weather this far north. I’ll just go fetch a shawl.”

She stood and left the room, leaving Irene alone with Kamet and Sejanus—not exactly her ideal of a dinner party, she thought, trying to smother her smile. As she threw her thoughts around for a topic of conversation, however, Kamet’s gaze fell on the piano in the corner.

“What a lovely instrument, your ladyship—do you play?”

“Oh—yes, I do, although not so much lately.” Dite had always been the one to ask for her accompaniment, when they dined together, but she did not care to say so in front of his brother. “I used to often, but in recent years I haven’t had anyone to appeal to my vanity.”

“I would happily take on that role, if your ladyship would be so kind,” the secretary said with a slight bow.

“Well… to tell you the truth, I’m not even sure if this instrument has been tuned—but it can’t hurt to try, can it? As long as you gentlemen promise not to have too high expectations.”

Irene sat down at the bench and played a tentative scale. The piano was, in fact, in tune; Phresine must have seen to it. She played the first classical piece that her fingers remembered and then, impulsively, a few lively Scottish songs her grandfather had been fond of. She had been very young when he died, but the sheet music had been left on the piano for years later. She paused only when she heard the door open and glanced over her shoulder to see Helen entering the room once more. Eugenides, too, had returned unnoticed. She glanced at the clock and was startled to see how much time had passed.

“I won’t monopolize your time,” she said as she stood.

“Not at all, Lady Attolia—that was very pleasant.”

“Thank you. Do you play any instruments, Mr. Edai?”

“No, I never took the time to learn.”

“My mother wanted me to play the harp,” Helen said with a smile. “She thought it would teach me grace. I always tugged the strings too hard and the tutor despaired of me, though, so eventually my mother gave up.” The door opened again and she glanced at the hallway. “Oh, Sophos—we were just talking about music. You play, don’t you?”

“A little. I begged my mother for piano lessons as a child, and she obliged, but I was a better listener than player. And I can pluck a lute, thanks to an indulgent university professor. I’ve heard Mr. Erondites is a very accomplished musician, though—aren’t you?”

“I believe you’re thinking of my brother,” Sejanus said in a distinctly chilly voice. There was a tense pause, and Sophos flushed as he tripped over his apology.

“I was a wonderful piano player, when I had two hands,” Eugenides claimed.

“You were tone-deaf,” Helen countered immediately.

“But no one had more enthusiasm.”

The conversation resumed with more gaiety. After several minutes, though, Eugenides once again touched her arm lightly and stood, wandering out of the room. No one noticed in the moment; they wouldn’t remark on the fact, if she had to make his excuses, but even so, Irene turned on Kamet to deflect the conversation preemptively.

“Mr. Edai, my husband tells me you are quite the expert on ancient poetry.”

“That is very kind of him, your ladyship. I don’t know about expert—it’s just a little hobby of mine.”

“Oh, don’t feel the need to be modest. Eugenides never does, and even so, he admits that your knowledge of the ancients—beyond the Greeks and Romans—surpasses his by a good deal. Might you recite something for us?”

He bowed slightly.

“I can hardly refuse, since you indulged me earlier this evening.”

He paused for a moment, considering his selection, and then cleared his throat. He was standing by the window, silhouetted against the mottled blue-black sky, and a sudden transformation came about him. Ordinarily he stood as if he were trying to hide his slight body in some obscure corner of the room, but now he straightened with grace and confidence, and his dry, exact voice became as smooth as river-water over stones.

 _Mother why does the River not rise?_ _  
_ _It is not the River’s time_ _  
_ _Why does the seed not sprout_ _  
_ _It is not the seed’s time_ _  
_ _Why does the rain not fall_ _  
_ _the leaf not unfurl itself_ __  
_Where is the hind and why does she not graze the fields before us_   
It is not their time...

As he spoke, Irene felt herself drifting away. To Devon—that was where she had been. Warm weather. Fresh air. That was the doctor’s prescription—as if he could say anything else. She had rested each morning in her comfortable bed, and each afternoon in the gardens, with a hearty contingent of maids to see to her needs. Not as hearty as before the war, of course, with taxation and all of that. But more so than this little out-of-the-way house. Eugenides had offered to bring her here. He knew she was fond of it, and he wouldn’t have let a silly little thing like a doctor’s opinion stop her from getting what she wanted.

But it was better to have been in Devon, she thought. Sunshine. Growing things. Seeds sprouting, flowers blooming, no doubt a hind or two leaping about somewhere in the distance. Too many people, but after all, it was a fair trade. Ephrata was private, quiet, but ultimately it was not a peaceful place. Not in that way. The little peninsula was—wild, in a way. When she was here, she felt as if the rest of the world ceased to exist. Like it was only the house, the cliffs, the indifferent sea and the bracing wind. A hidden place. A place to do what needed to be done…. 

The sound of polite claps roused her from her musings, and she joined her applause to theirs.

“That was lovely, Mr. Edai,” she said. Her voice was a shade fainter than usual, and as his eyes met hers, she saw a brief flash of acknowledgement. “Very lovely. Thank you. Now, Mr. Sounis, am I correct in thinking that verse bears a striking resemblence to Vergil? Something in the _Georgics_?” she asked, the consummate hostess once more.

“Hm? Oh, yes.”

She had chosen both topic and subject well. Sophos treated them to a brief lecture on the difference in form between ancient Mesopotamian and Latin poetry, and then, at Helen’s gentle nudge, he gave a recitation from the _Praises of Spring,_ which was more pleasant to a general audience. Somewhere towards the end, Eugenides slipped into the room once more and joined her on the settee. Without looking at him, Irene extended her hand, and he grasped her fingers and held them in his lap.

“Irene?” he murmured softly. She turned towards him. “Are you ill?”

“No. No, I am fine.”

If anything, she thought, Eugenides was the one who looked slightly pale, but she did not comment. His thumb brushed against her knuckles.

For a long time the conversation ebbed and flowed. Helen, bless her, took over the role of hostess, steering things from poetry to music to theatre and films with ease. She kept Sejanus in good humor, and when Costis returned a while later, she even managed to draw a few words out of him. But eventually even her energy flagged, and Irene looked over as she tried to stifle a yawn.

“I’m afraid I’m quite worn out,” Helen said apologetically. “I’ll say good night, then.”

Irene stood to accompany her to the door.

“I left you with quite the lion’s share of the duties tonight,” she murmured. “I apologize.”

“Nonsense. If I couldn’t talk circles around a few absent-minded men, I’d have no business being in parliament.” Her eyes softened and she squeezed Irene’s arm. “Be careful of sentimental poetry, Irene. It can’t do you any good.”

“On the contrary, I think it does me all the good in the world. But it is more suited to solitary reflection than drawing room conversation, I’ll grant you that. Good night.”

“Good night.”

She sat down again. Sejanus had turned the discussion to politics. He was doing his best to get Sophos to disagree with a number of Helen’s key political beliefs without ever mentioning her by name—but he gave Sophos a sporting chance to counteract him, at least, which was more than Nahuseresh would have done, so Irene let them go on. She kept one ear on the conversation in case a referee was needed.

“Have you lived in England long enough to take an interest in our politics, Mr. Edai?” she asked. “Or do you find yourself more concerned in Mede matters?”

“Yes and no, your ladyship. I’m afraid I don’t have much in terms of political principles, as it were. From my perspective, English politics are divided into those who uphold the absolute right of the aristocracy to do whatever it wants, and those who wish to transfer that right to everyone else.”

“There is a middle ground.”

“Of course there is. But in my experience, the wretched unfortunates of this world can do very little to protect themselves from those in power—and if they were given power, would be very ill-placed to wield it owing to a lifetime of ignorance and selfishness.”

“Steady on,” Costis said, turning red. “It’s not only the rich who can be selfless.”

Kamet looked startled, as though he had forgotten he was speaking to other people instead of merely voicing his thoughts aloud.

“I don’t think selflessness is a natural human trait, as a matter of fact—I think the rich and poor are just as likely to be selfish in their instincts. But the rich can afford to be selfless. They can afford to give up a little of what they have, secure in the knowledge that they will get more. The poor, oftentimes, cannot, and therefore it takes a superb moral character to overcome the defects of circumstance. As a former member of the wretched unfortunate, I don’t believe improvement is impossible, but political people like to think that the answer they propose will do universal good, and I find it hard to believe that’s true. I think we all do what’s best for ourselves, and if that happens to help others— well, it’s more a happy accident than anything else.”

Sejanus and Sophos’s conversation had faded, and Kamet looked suddenly uncomfortable at being the focus of attention. Sophos opened his mouth, clearly intending to launch the opening salvo to a robust moral debate—but Eugenides cut him off.

“Or an unhappy one, as the case may be,” he said glibly.

Costis snorted. Sophos chuckled and reminded Eugenides of just such a favor he had once done for their friend Magus, which Eugenides groaned and tried to forestall. Kamet cleared his throat.

“I apologize, your ladyship, if my cynicism isn’t drawing-room conversation.”

“There is no need to apologize for speaking your mind, Mr. Edai. Personally, I’m not so inclined to see things through rose-tinted glasses as some, so I think we might find we have some beliefs in common. Although we are outnumbered tonight. I know Mr. Sounis and my husband, at least, are dyed-in-the-woold idealists.”

“My dear, I think that may be the cruelest thing you’ve ever said about me,” Eugenides said, raising an eyebrow.

“It is not.”

“We are in complete agreement, Lady Attolia,” Sejanus said with a smile.

“Are we, Mr. Erondites? How novel.”

“Yes. There are many people who disapprove of men in my father’s position, but really that is only because they are idealists who expect sentiment from the newspapers. Whereas men of the world—and women such as yourself—have seen too much to expect faith and honesty from others, be they politicians or public figures or anyone else. If we were to take people at their word, there would, in fact, be little need for newspapers at all. Someone would always come along and say ‘oh, don’t worry, there’s no story there’ and that would be the end of it. What we do is provide the public with the unvarnished facts so that they might interpret things to their own satisfaction.”

“And sometimes you approach this task with such zeal that you provide them with even more than that,” Eugenides said pleasantly. Sejanus only smiled.

“If you say so, Lord Eugenides.” He glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece. “My, my, would you look at the time. It _does_ fly, doesn’t it?”

He said good night and slipped out of the room.

“My God!” Sophos exclaimed. “What a nasty fellow! And do you know, I think—” His eyes flickered to Kamet for just a moment. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I have to say, Lady Attolia, I was surprised to hear you had invited him. I didn’t think he was part of your set.”

“No,” she said absently. “I am very fond of his brother, though, and one doesn’t like to be disobliging.”

“No, of course not.” He sighed. “I must make a study of you, your ladyship, and of Helen. Of course I do my best to be polite always, but for so long nobody paid me attention and it’s much easier to be polite when no one is paying any attention. More difficult to be a gracious host when your face is an open book, but there you go.”

“You won’t make a study of me, Sophos? I’m wounded.”

“Gen, you’ve never tried to be polite in your life.”

“I protest. I try very hard.”

“For every ounce of willpower you spend trying to be polite, you spend two trying to be rude.” He stood and yawned. “Well, that’s it for me, I think.”

“That’s all? I was just going to offer a last round of drinks.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Good night.” He nodded at the men and then ducked his head in Irene’s direction. “Lady Attolia.”

“Good night, Mr. Sounis.”

“You’ll have a drink with me, won’t you, Irene?” Eugenides asked.

“One more—and only because you will pout otherwise.”

“Indeed I will.”

The room felt quiet, now that their party had shrunk to just four. They were too small to open another bottle of champagne, but Eugenides mixed up a batch of bee’s knees with minimal flourishes. He poured two glasses to start and gestured for Costis to hand them to Irene and Kamet.

“No, thank you,” Kamet declined absent-mindedly. “I never drink cocktails.”

“We do have scotch, if you’d prefer—or there’s the remchik.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Come, what’s the harm?”

“Well—perhaps.” He drifted towards the bar cart and removed the top from the heavy glass bottle. He splashed a small serving of remchik in the glass and then jumped, looking at the clock. “Oh, no, I’ve forgotten—Mr. Nahuseresh said he might need me.”

“At this time of night?” Irene exclaimed. “Surely he’s already gone to bed!”

“Yes, most likely, but if he hasn’t… perhaps I should just check and make sure.”

He left the room. Costis humphed.

“Costis, dear, you _can’t_ disapprove of Nahuseresh for that, I’m afraid,” Eugenides said dryly.

“Why not, my lord?”

“Because _you_ are also awake at this late hour at your employer’s discretion. Although, I grant you, I do allow you to be drunk if you so wish. In fact, I rather wish you were drunk more often. I think that would be very entertaining for me.”

“Really, Eugenides,” Irene said, sipping her cocktail. “One of these days, Costis will punch you in the face again, and it will be completely justified and I will have to dismiss him anyway, and it will be very sad for all of us.”

Costis protested, and Eugenides laughed, and for a moment, the unease that had lingered in the air all evening was gone. Irene leaned against the arm of the settee and considered curling up with her feet on the cushion—she couldn’t quite bring herself to actually do so, but the thought was enough. She tried to stifle a yawn and took another sip of her cocktail.

“Why don’t you go to bed, darling?” Eugenides suggested.

“Oh no—I don’t like to leave our guests to their own devices.”

“Nonsense. Didn’t you just say, Nahuseresh is probably in bed already? Even if he hasn’t, it’s only him and Kamet, and I’m going to stay down for a little while yet. I promise you, I will cater to their every need.”

“You will not.”

“I’ll make Costis cater to their every need.”

“You _do_ look tired, your ladyship,” Costis offered hesitantly. Irene yawned again.

“Oh, very well.” She stood, depositing her glass on a side table, and bent to kiss her husband on the cheek. “Good night. Good night, Costis.”

As she went up the stairs, she crossed back with Kamet going down, a faint frown creasing his forehead. He stopped.

“Oh, Lady Attolia—I don’t suppose you have a key to the library?”

“A key?” she said, surprised. “Well—yes, there is a key, but only one. It’s usually kept in my desk in the morning room. Is the library locked?”

“Yes, and my master didn’t answer when I knocked on the door. Possibly he has fallen asleep. Or—I’m concerned he might have taken ill.”

“I understand. Costis and my husband are both in the drawing room still. I’m sure they can help you.”

He thanked her, and continued down the stairs. Irene paused at the landing. She looked out at the sea, thrashing indistinctly in the gloom of the storm. Every now and again the moon was distinguishable behind a thick blanket of dark clouds, but it was hazy. A feeling of forboding crept up her spine once more. She glanced down the hall at the library and then slowly, deliberately, turned the other way and entered her bedroom.

Irene moved as silently as a ghost as she undressed, slipped into her nightgown, and brushed out her hair, finally sitting down on the edge of the bed. She listened as she heard footsteps up the stairs, the barely-distinguishable murmur of voices, and the dull thud of a body against a door and the door crashing open. Silence. Voices again, higher and urgent, and quick footsteps down the stairs. The door to her bedroom was thrown open and her husband strode towards the bed, his face grim.

“Eugenides—”

He shook his head, abstracted something from his nightstand, and left again. Irene waited. When Eugenides returned again, his face was calm. He kissed her on the forehead.

“Nahuseresh is dead,” he said. “Murdered. The police have been called. I gave Kamet a sedative. You should go to sleep.”

Irene struggled to stand, but his hand on her shoulder was firm.

“I should talk to the police. It’s my house—”

“Irene,” he said firmly. “You should be asleep when they arrive. _I_ will talk to them, and no one else. I think that’s much the better thing.”

She watched his face carefully. There had been a momentary lurch in her stomach, but that was all. Aside from that, she was not shocked. There was a certain inevitability to the thing. She nodded, and Eugenides stepped back.

“Did you intend for this to happen?” she asked. Her voice sounded distant, disinterested. Eugenides’s eyes were darker than black.

“You didn’t want to know the details.”

“Now I do.”

“No, my dear. I’m afraid you don’t.”


	3. Chapter 3

**I**

Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard looked down thoughtfully at the body. The physician, after allowing the Detective Inspector to take copious photos, had rearranged the body in the chair so he could examine the wounds more closely, which allowed Battle a full view of the scene before him.

Lucky, he thought, that he had been on the scene so soon. Strictly speaking, the Yard hadn’t been called in yet. But with his wife and youngest daughter traveling abroad for the school holiday, Battle had come up to visit an old friend, recently retired and still much beloved by the local police station. It wasn’t every day that a murder was rung in from Ephrata—still less a murder of a foreign gentleman, brother of a PM! The DI had reached out to his old mentor for advice, and he in turn had pressed Battle into service. He had the advantage of experience with a broad range of people in a broad range of places. So, too, did he have the advantage of looking rather stupid. He had a wooden face that rarely expressed any of the flashes of keen intellect that people expected from a truly brilliant detective, and so they tended to disregard any traps he attempted to set and talked a good deal more than they ought to.

Anyway, Battle was of the opinion that flashes of intellect and ‘eureka’ moments were highly overrated and rarely had anything to do with the solving of crime. Observation, experience, and good solid police work did the trick most of the time. And right now, his experience was making his nose twitch.

“I don’t like it,” he announced.

“Wasn’t much to like about him by all accounts,” Inspector Roberts shrugged. “Unpleasant chap, so I understand.”

“No, no. It’s this whole scene—I don’t like it one bit. There isn’t enough blood, to start with.”

“I suppose you’ll want me to answer for that,” Dr. Thesiger said. “Well, I can’t as of yet. Best guess is it has to do with the shape of the murder weapon. It’s a curious wound—couldn’t tell you what made it at the moment, but it’s possible most of the damage was internal. No trace of the knife in the room.”

“There’s another thing! The locked door. It’s not typical for a man to commit suicide by stabbing, still less by stabbing himself and disappearing the knife in his last moments—but why lock the door if not to suggest suicide? To prevent the body from being discovered? But the secretary was sure to check on him before bed as, in fact, he did. And there’s something else…”

He walked around the desk, then snapped his fingers.

“Got it! Papers.” 

“Papers?” Roberts repeated.

“He hasn’t got any. What was he working on in the library all that time, and where did it go? Don’t suppose you secreted any away, Doctor?”

“No, no.”

“That’s something, then. Do you have an estimated time of death?”

“Yes, I’d say between 8:30 and 9:30. I’m inclined to think earlier, because the body was just beginning to stiffen when I arrived, but these things do vary.”

“Hm.”

They examined the room for another few moments, but there was precious little in the way of physical evidence. The best they could do was a slight damp patch beneath the window, which _could_ have been the work of an ambitious and foolhardy cat-burglar… but more likely could be blamed on a man deep in his work who hadn’t thought to close the window before the rain began. Nevertheless, the uniformed constable obligingly dusted the window-latch for fingerprints. No use bothering with the door—any prints would have been smeared off when the body was discovered. There were no muddy footprints, no misplaced cigarette ash, no mysterious stains on the carpet. The dead man’s watch hadn’t even done them the courtesy of getting smashed.

“It’s getting late,” Battle said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Some of the household has gone to bed already, but I should like to speak to the others. There’s a sort of sitting room downstairs, hasn’t been used all night—that’ll do. Waynflete, go fetch his lordship and ask him to join us there, won’t you? Better be careful about it. These titled chaps, sometimes they get snippy about being ordered about in their own houses.”

“Yes, sir.”

Battle and Roberts left the doctor with the body and walked down the grand staircase. There was a lovely stained glass window on the landing, but the rain had picked up again, and the gloom had turned it muddy and vague.

“Rum thing, all this,” Roberts commented. “I’m damned glad you’re here, Battle—don’t mean to spoil your visit, but a murder in a marchioness’s house—not the sort of thing we deal with often. And such a marchioness, too!”

Battle brushed aside his thanks.

“Tell me about the marchioness,” he said. “I know a bit about her husband, of course—all that hullabaloo in the war.”

“Yes, well, her family is very old, and quite well-known around these parts. Used to be they were always on the brink of bankruptcy, especially after her grandfather bought that big house down south and could hardly pay for it. Even so, his sons were always throwing big parties and getting into debt—unsavory persons hanging around at all times, the hint of criminal enterprises to keep the family afloat. Some of the young men died in the Great War, and the old marquess not long after. An awful lot of death duties. We thought the whole thing was going to ruin. Then the current lady’s father was thrown from a horse or some such thing, and her not even at her majority, and then her husband! Her first husband, that is. Died practically on the day of the wedding. Food poisoning. Apparently the chap had a bit of a weak constitution, too much rich food and all that.”

“Dear, dear.”

“Yes. Rotten luck. Those last two happened in Devon, but I believe there were inquests. All above board, so I understand, and everyone felt mighty sorry for her because they couldn’t imagine her holding on to one estate, let alone both. And then, wouldn’t you know, she righted the ship! I know she had to let this house for a while, and there were whispers about her selling family jewels and old Renaissance paintings and that kind of thing—though how people can be sure of it, I never know—but within a year or two, she’d raised enough capital and righted enough investments to get out from under the debt. Extraordinary woman. Shouldn’t like to get on her bad side, though. Ruthless, like, when it came to some of the dodgy folks who had been taking advantage of the family.”

Battle mulled this over, nodding slowly. They had reached the room on the first floor, and he took a moment to look around. He guess that this was the lady’s personal sitting room. It wasn’t what a man of his age would call a typical “lady’s room”—no doilies or ceramic knick knacks cluttering the tables—just a comfortable settee, two low armchairs, and a writing desk and chair. But there was a feminine softness to the room. None of the mahogany or leather expected in a man’s study, with curtains and upholstery all done in pleasing shades of cream and sea green. He and Roberts sat on the settee.

“She married—what, three or four years ago?”

“Yes, just at the end of the war. The war hit her hard, so I heard, and the Eddis family is rich as anything, of course—”

At that moment, the door opened, and Roberts clammed up.

Lord Eugenides Eddis was a slight man, with an olive complexion and dark eyes that twinkled in an impish face—the kind of face, in fact, than an Englishman couldn’t help but dislike instinctively. _Touch of the dago_ , Battle thought. He had the vague memory that Eugenides’s father had married a Greek dancer or some such thing. Then his gaze fell to wooden hand attached to the man’s wrist and he felt guilty. No one knew exactly how he had lost his hand—he had been a younger son then, with a rocky relationship to his titled father and no prospect of marrying a marchioness, and therefore beneath the public interest—but it was a war injury, and for that he had earned a grudging bit of respect.

“Lord Eugenides,” Battle said. He stood and gave a deep nod in lieu of a handshake.

“Do call me Eugenides,” the lord said as he draped himself over a chair. “Or Eugene, if that helps you think of me more as a respected peer and less as a murderer.”

“They are not mutually exclusive, my lord,” Battle said gravely.

“No, they’re not, more’s the pity. Anyway, I don’t know if I count as a respected peer, so the _prenom_ alone will still do for me. Mind you, my lady _does_ prefer to be addressed with full title, so be prepared when you speak with her.”

“I will be, sir.”

“Excellent. Do you mind if I smoke, Superintendent?”

“Not at all,” Battle said.

He wondered briefly if he should offer his assistance, but in the blink of an eye, the lord had his cigarette case opened and closed, a cigarette in his mouth, and a lighter lit and held to the end—all using one hand. He juggled the case and lighter for a moment before tucking them into his pockets as quick as lightning, and then he leaned back in his chair and made a grand ‘begin’ gesture. His eyes gleamed with mischief.

“To begin with,” Battle said slowly, considering him. “I wonder if you could give me a brief description of the household and how they came to be assembled this evening.”

“Right-o. Well, there is my wife and I. We’ve been married for—oh, going on four years now, living principally at my wife’s estate in Devon. We came up to Ephrata in March. Among our staff, there is Onarkus, the cook—singularly unpleasant to talk to, but can’t beat his skill—and Phresine, who’s a sort of companion-housekeeper. Rather a sweet old thing. She’s more a companion in Devon and more of a housekeeper at Ephrata, because of the servant trouble. We have a couple of local girls in as maids, but they’re dailies. And as a matter of fact, Phresine sent Gennie off tonight because of the storm. Gennie laid dinner, and then Phresine took care of the coffee herself.”

“Thank you,” Battle said, making a note of it. “We can talk about tonight in greater detail later.”

“Quite right. Aside from that, in terms of the _household_ , there’s really only Costis, Costis Ormentiedes. His father is the steward of the Devon estate, and my wife saw to his education. He was in the Army during the war, and then he came here to be my right hand man.”

“Which entails…?” Battle prompted. He refused to acknowledge the pun, and Eugenides looked put out.

“Oh, valet, bodyguard, secretary. He can reach things off the top shelf, which is handy.” Eugenides hesitated, and for the first time, some of the levity went out of his voice. “Perhaps I can save you a little time, Superintendent, by telling you now that Costis is _not_ your murderer.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not. Creeping around in the dark, stabbing people, that’s not Costis’s style at all. He’s the type to challenge a man to a duel, shoot him, and then march himself to the police and confess. Very straightforward, very English. He actually punched me in the face, once, so you can see I know what I’m talking about.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Battle said politely. “We will take that into consideration. Beyond the household, then—who are your guests?”

“Well, there’s General Teleus. He’s known my wife’s family for years and years. He’s retired now, owns a little cottage near us in Devon, but he had an offer to let, so Lady Attolia invited him here for the summer. Then there’s Helen Eddis, a cousin of mine. She’s an MP, perhaps you know. She usually spends part of the summer visiting, either here or at our Devon house. Sea air, family comforts and all. I can’t see Helen murdering a fellow like Nahuseresh—she’s the most frightfully sensible woman I know, and she simply doesn’t _take notice_ of infuriating people like that. Practice, I suppose, from dealing with all those wretched Parliamentarians. Her fiancé is up as well. Sophos Sounis.”

“The arms dealer?” Roberts said. Eugenides grinned wryly.

“Poor Sophos. He inherited Sounis Arms & Auto Parts last year, yes, and before that he was a stone-broke researcher at the British Museum and infinitely more pleased with it. He isn’t _quite_ a pacifist, but he’s not the warmonger his uncle was. As a matter of fact, in a few weeks I believe they’ll be dropping the ‘Arms’ part from the company name and focusing more on the ‘Auto.’ Anyway, he’s been a friend of mine for years, and he adores Helen.”

“Go on.”

“There’s also Sejanus Erondites.” The lord pulled a face.

“The Baron Erondites’ son?” Battle asked, lifting his eyebrows. Lord Erondites owned about a dozen newspapers and radio programmes. Anybody who was anybody knew Lord Erondites, and anyone who knew him hated him.

“The very same. Loathsome man. My wife is friends with his elder brother, you see, and Sejanus uses that as a pretext to suggest we’re all good friends. Do you know, he actually invited _himself_ here? I got a telegram out of the blue three weeks ago. ‘Shall arrive afternoon 22nd for the weekend if convenient.’ As a matter of fact it _wasn’t_ convenient—the house is just about full now—but offending an Erondites is simply asking for a hailstorm of bad press, and my wife thought it wasn’t worth the trouble. Sejanus is just the type to stab someone in the back, though,” he suggested hopefully.

“Nahuseresh was stabbed from the front, my lord.”

“Damn. Oh well. Where was I? Ah, next would be Kamet Edai, Nahuseresh’s secretary. I don’t know much about him, to tell the truth. He’s quiet and a bit arrogant, I think, but he must have the patience of a saint to put up with Nahuseresh.”

“And how did you know the victim?”

“I met him for the first time just before the war. I was out in Medea, and naturally as Britishers, Irene and I were thrown together a bit, and Nahuseresh was an acquaintance of hers. I was quite happy to be rid of him when I went into the service, but then we met again once or twice here in England.” He paused. “There, you see, I admit I didn’t like him, but for eminently petty reasons. I’m really a very petty person, Superintendent, and I’m afraid I can’t put on a good face around a man who uses cheap oil in his beard and can’t smile without smirking and escorts the woman I’m in love with to dinner every other night.”

“Yet he is staying in your house?” Battle asked, frowning.

“Ye-es,” Eugenides said slowly. “Yes. It sounds a little funny, I know. You see, just around the time the war ended, somehow we all ended up in Ephrata together, and it got out that Nahuseresh had been trying to undermine some of Irene’s business ventures. She sent him packing, I proposed, and that was the end of it. We were able to right the investments with no harm done, and we’ve hardly given Nahuseresh a thought these last four years. Then a few weeks ago, he sends a letter to Irene saying he’s going to be up north and hopes to pay a visit, in honor of their friendship, etc etc. She showed it to me and we talked it over and—well, Irene always did find him amusing, and I got to thinking that perhaps I’d find him more amusing now that _I’m_ her ladyship’s escort. I’m not above a bit of gloating, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all there is to it?” Battle asked with a stern gaze.

“Yes.”

“Forgive me, your lordship—have you any worries about your wife and Nahuseresh?”

Eugenides grinned and stubbed out his cigarette.

“None whatsoever.”

“You are quite certain they have not been in contact prior to this letter?”

“Quite certain.”

“Very well. We would like to see this letter for ourselves, by the bye.”

“Irene has it still, I think. You can ask her.”

“I will. Now, if you could tell me about the events of this afternoon.”

“Certainly. I didn’t see Nahuseresh at all until 1:30 or 2 o’clock, when I ran into him briefly on the grounds. He was talking to Irene, but he excused himself and went back inside. We all had dinner in the evening and then went back to the drawing room—across the hall there. Phresine poured coffee and Costis passed around some cocktails. Phresine went to bed early, and Nahuseresh went up to the library to write letters. Teleus, Sophos, and Costis went to play billiards. Teleus went up to bed from the billiards room, but Sophos and Costis came back—at different times, I think. Helen, Sejanus, Sophos, and Irene went up to bed in more or less that order. ’Fraid I can’t be so specific—I went out, myself, for a little walk and a cigarette.”

“Quite a rough night for that, sir.”

“I’m a hardy sort. I like a bit of fresh air, and this house can be frightfully stuffy, so I went out when there were breaks in the rain.”

“Did you go near the library at all?”

“No.”

“See anyone in the vicinity?”

Eugenides’s lip twitched upwards.

“Difficult to see someone in the vicinity of an indoor corridor if one is not in the vicinity, isn’t it? No, I didn’t see anyone. The billiards room was all lit up, and I saw the three gentlemen there, but other than that…” He shrugged. “I went back to the drawing room. Sophos was already back, and Costis came in a short while later. Around 10, Kamet wondered why Nahuseresh hadn’t fetched him, so he decided to go up. He came back down a moment later saying the door was locked—which is strange, you know, because there’s only one key and no one remembers giving it to Nahuseresh.”

“The door was locked from the inside?”

“Oh yes. The key was still in the lock, as a matter of fact. Kamet was worried Nahuseresh might be ill, so I told Costis to go up with him and bang the door open. I went up as well—pure curiosity—and we found the body.”

“Any idea who might have killed him?”

“Anyone, I imagine,” Eugenides said cheerfully.

“Except Costis Ormentiedes.”

“Oh yes, except him. Nahuseresh was a singularly unpleasant person. Anyone might be tempted—I’m sure everyone in the household gave it at least a moment’s thought over the last few days. But no, Superintendent, I haven’t witnessed any of my guests expressing murderous rage injudiciously.”

Battle glanced at Inspector Roberts and knew they were thinking the same thing—a houseful of people vaguely motivated to commit a murder any of them had the opportunity for, with no weapon to narrow down the suspect pool. It was not an auspicious beginning.

“Very well, my lord,” Battle said. “Thank you for your time. I’d like to speak to the victim’s secretary next—Kamet Edai.”

Eugenides leaned back and crossed his legs.

“Not possible, I’m afraid,” he said breezily.

“Excuse me?”

“Kamet was understandably upset at finding his employer stabbed in the library. I take Veronal occasionally, so I gave him a dose. He’s sound asleep.”

Battle’s eyebrows rose.

“That was… improper.”

“Was it? I do apologize.”

The lord stared back, his expression blank and calm. Battle examined him for a moment, then glanced down at his notepad.

“Is anyone else in the household awake?”

“I don’t think so. It’s the country, you know, and we do keep country hours. My wife was the last one up before we found the body, so she might still be awake, if you’d like to speak to her.”

“It is late,” Battle said reluctantly. “We shouldn’t like to bother her ladyship. Very well—does the drawing room lock, sir?”

“It does.”

“Then if you don’t mind, I’d like to lock it right now and take the key with me—and Inspector Roberts and I would like to look through the kitchen knives before we go. We will return tomorrow morning to conduct the rest of our interviews. You understand, of course, that no one is to leave the house.”

“Of course.”

“And I’ll be leaving Constable Waynflete here for the night, to make sure nothing goes amiss.”

“Delighted, I’m sure.” He withdrew a key from his pocket. “I locked the drawing room already, but you’re welcome to check yourselves. Do show yourselves out whenever you’re ready. Will you be taking the body with you?”

“Yes,” Battle said shortly.

“Strange chap,” Roberts muttered when the door closed behind him.

“Mm,” Battle agreed. “It’s a strange house.”

**II**

The next morning, Superintendent Battle stepped into the dining room of Ephrata to find a sort of theatrical tableau. At the head of the table sat Lord Eugenides, lounging in his chair with his torso quite hanging over the arm, as if he were in a pub instead of a richly furnished dining room. His wife sat at his right, as straight-backed and regal as an empress, and on her right was a short, heavyset woman in a smart brown suit, rather plain but with an air of supreme good sense. This, the superintendent guessed, was the lord’s cousin—there was a strong family resemblance. Her head was bent in conversation with a blond man whose hand was frozen in the act of lifting a tea cup.

Across the table, in striking counterpoint to the others, sat a pinched-face man leaning away from the rest of the group. It looked to Battle like an unconscious gesture, but he surveyed the rest of them with undeniable suspicion. Battle guessed this must be Sejanus Erondites, who by all accounts had no friends in the house. There was an empty seat between him and the next man, who was also surveying the group, albeit with a blank, careful expression rather than one of suspicion. There were two men standing. One, Battle instantly identified as Teleus, the old general—he had the serious face of an Army man and was frowning out the window with a cup of coffee in his hand. And finally, at the sideboard stood the small, dark secretary of the murdered man, clutching a plate and looking askance at the kippers as if they had personally insulted him.

Yes, Battle thought. Quite the tableau. Act 2, Scene 1, following the dramatic discovery of the body, the curtain fall, an intermission full of delightful speculation. He cleared his throat.

“Good morning,” he said, and all the faces turned towards him. “Sorry to disturb you all. Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard—and Inspector Roberts, no doubt some of you know.”

There was a gentle chorus of “how do you do”s.

“I understand it is quite unpleasant to be in the same house that a murder was committed, and to have police trampling through your life—I can assure you that we will do our best to make the process as quick and unobtrusive as possible. Given last night’s weather and the house’s isolation, it seems unlikely there was an outside presence, so we would like to request that everyone remain in the house until such time as we allow you to leave. There will be a uniformed officer here all the time, should you need assistance, and we would like the opportunity to speak to each of you over the course of the morning.”

“Except _me_ , surely, Superintendent?” Eugenides asked, with the attitude of a schoolboy getting out of a particularly boring lesson.

“Of course, my lord.”

Eugenides smiled at his wife, who glanced at the ceiling and drew in a breath.

“I should like to speak to Mr. Nahuseresh’s secretary first.”

The man at the sideboard swallowed nervously, clutching his untouched plate of food.

“Yes—of course, if I can help in any way—” He smothered a yawn.

“Superintendent,” the marchioness said in a low, velvety voice. “Mr. Edai took a sedative last night and has only just come down to join us. Perhaps he might have the opportunity to finish his breakfast and coffee before answering your questions. I myself should like to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

“Delighted, I’m sure,” Battle said with a slight bow. Edai thanked the lady, and she rose from her seat.

“Will the morning room do?” she asked, although the tone brokered no argument.

“Perfectly.”

Superintendent Battle and Inspector Roberts sat on the same settee from the night before—precious few hours before, really—and Lady Attolia sat in the chair across from them with her ankles crossed. She was about as different from her husband as possible. Supremely English—of the Tudor type, not likely to don country tweeds and wellies. She was extremely pale with very black hair parted in the middle and twisted in an elegant knot at the back of her neck. She wore a soft heather grey jumper and a black skirt, and sat with her white hands folded in her lap. There was a curious aura about her—a feeling that she had a very strong personality, without the faintest hint of what that personality might be. Even motionless, her slate grey eyes seemed to be waiting for something.

 _A cool customer_ , Battle thought _._ He noticed that her only jewelry, aside from a simple gold wedding band, was a pair of earrings. They looked antique, with square-cut rubies set in small circles of engraved gold, incongruous with the rest of her sleek, modern appearance.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us so early, your ladyship. I know this can’t be pleasant.”

“No, it is not pleasant to have a guest murdered in one’s home,” she said. “But of course you must ask your questions. I will give you all the help I can.”

“I wondered if you could give us an account of your movements yesterday.”

“Of course. I awoke early, before 7 o’clock, and went for a walk around the peninsula. There is a little bench there where I like to collect my thoughts. I ran into Teleus, taking his morning constitutional, and we walked back together. We went to breakfast. The only other person awake at that hour was Nahuseresh’s secretary, Kamet Edai, but eventually Helen, Mr. Sounis, Mr. Erondites, and Costis joined us.”

“What about Mr. Nahuseresh? And your husband?”

“Oh, yes, my husband did come down, but he had slept in late, and I left the room soon after he arrived. Nahuseresh had a tray brought up, as usual. He is accustomed to having a few dozen servants in the Mede Empire, so he prefers to have breakfast sent up. Tiresome, when our domestic situation is more modest, but one doesn’t like to be disobliging.”

“I see. Go on.”

“I retired to this room for most of the morning. Phresine came in and we reviewed some preparations for dinner. At around 1 o’clock, I returned to the dining room and had a cold lunch. Mr. Erondites and Nahusersh were there when I arrived, but Mr. Erondites left soon after, and then Helen came. I know Sophos had walked into the village for lunch—I don’t know about the others. Nahusersh invited me for another walk around the peninsula afterwards.”

“Did he?” Battle said with interest. “Did he want to speak with you about anything in particular?”

“Oh, no.”

“Forgive me, your ladyship. It’s—well, it was said in papers that you came very close to marrying Mr. Nahuseresh at one point. Is it—is it possible either one of you were considering—er—resuming your friendship?”

Lady Attolia raised an eyebrow. Her long face remained stony, but Battle sensed that she was amused.

“Certainly not. I’m afraid your information is incorrect, Superintendent. I met Nahuseresh a number of times, both here in England and when I was on holiday in the Mid East, and I will admit, I allowed him to escort me to some dinners and events and pay some little compliments—he had pleasant manners, when he wanted to use them. But he was a thoroughly unsuitable character and I never had any intention of marrying him! As a matter of fact, I learned at one point that he was already married, although I think they are now divorced, or separated, or whatever sort of thing is permissible in Medea. I am quite happily married to my husband, however much that may have bruised Nahuseresh’s ego.”

“Indeed. Please continue.”

“My husband came out, and Nahusersh went in. We spoke for a little while, and I spent most of the afternoon with Helen in the drawing room. We took tea there—myself, Helen, Eugenides, Mr. Sounis, and Mr. Erondites. Nahuseresh and Mr. Edai sometimes joined us, but not yesterday, and Teleus prefers not to eat before dinner. I went up to dress and remained in my rooms until dinner at 7 o’clock. I saw no reason to have men and women separate afterwards—such an old-fashioned custom, and difficult when one only has dailies who need to travel home. We all went into the sitting room for coffee and cocktails. Phresine retired soon after, and then Teleus, Costis and Sophos went to the billiards room after the first round. At about 8:15, Nahuseresh said he needed to draft some letters and asked to use the library. He told Mr. Edai to remain, but said he might call for him later.”

“Did he?”

“No, but at quarter to 9, Mr. Edai left to bring him a cup of coffee, as he usually did. Sophos came back to the drawing room at about 9:15, and Costis around quarter of 10, when Teleus had gone to bed. Helen had gone to bed also by that point—no, I’m sorry, she stayed a little longer, because I remember she said good night to Costis. I think perhaps she went up around 9:50, and then Mr. Erondites and Sophos just before the hour.”

“So by the time the body was discovered, the members of the party still up were you, your husband, Costis Ormentiedes, and Kamet Edai, is that correct?”

“I went to bed around 10, before the body was discovered. I didn’t know until my husband told me, when the police had already been called.”

“I see. The coroner estimated a one-hour window for the time of death, between 8:30—or, rather, 8:45, when he last seen alive, according to you—and 9:30. At that point, Mrs. Phresine and Mr. Edai had left the room, as had the three men playing billiards. What about the others—did any of them go upstairs, to your knowledge?”

“Let me think. It was a rather chilly night, and Helen went up to fetch a warmer shawl. It was just before the clock rang, so… five of 9 or thereabouts.”

“And how long was she gone?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Pardon—are you quite sure? That seems like an awfully long time to fetch a shawl.”

“Yes, I thought she had been gone rather a long time—I checked the clock when she got back. But then, some ladies do take great care with their clothing.”

Battle recalled the stout, unglamorous woman in the dining room and thought that she was unlikely to be one of them, but he declined to say so.

“And your husband, and yourself? Did you leave the sitting room at all?”

“No, I was there all night. My husband, I fancy, went out twice—he’s not the kind of gentleman who enjoys being still, you understand. I didn’t keep close track. I believe he went out once for a cigarette and once for a bit of fresh air during a lull in the storm.”

“I see. Now, Lady Attolia, I was wondering if you could tell me about the party’s mood.”

“Mood, Superintendent?”

“Yes. You are the hostess of the party, and you’ve known most members of the staff and the guests for many years. I suspect you would be the best judge of their characters and attitudes. Did anyone seem especially nervy, for example, or distracted? Anyone seem to harbor ill feelings towards the deceased?”

“I shouldn’t like to speculate,” Lady Attolia said slowly. “Only because—well, one is so often wrong when one tries to say what others think and feel. I have heard such absurd rumors about myself that I’m inclined to be cautious. But I can tell you what _I_ felt.” She paused to lay her words in the proper order. “I found Mr. Nahuseresh quite amusing at times, but I didn’t _like_ him. I thought of him the way one thinks of a witty, nasty character in a play—entertaining if one is an audience member, exhausting if one is a fellow character. And being in each other’s pockets like this, he really did get tiresome, especially because we were in large part a family party. His presence spoiled things, I felt, and I think several of my guests would agree with me. But I don’t see a spoiled dinner party as sufficient motive for murder.”

“Do you know of any particular reason why someone would wish to kill him?”

“Well, he was a swindler. Perhaps he was swindling someone—but I haven’t the faintest idea who. Or perhaps it might have something to do with his Medean dealings. Assassination, you know, is not uncommon in that part of the world.”

“We have no evidence anyone came into the house from the outside, madam. Unless,” he added with a faint smile. “You suspect one of your guests of being a Medean assassin?”

“No, not exactly,” she conceded.

“I’m not sure if your husband saw fit to tell you, your ladyship, but Nahuseresh was stabbed—stabbed with a very peculiar blade, quite thin and oddly shaped.”

“What—like a letter opener or something?”

“Not a letter opener, no. It was thinner than that, and somewhat curved.” Her mouth twitched, and he leaned forward eagerly. “Yes—that suggests something to you?”

“Really, Superintendent, you are asking me to commit to an awful amount of speculation.”

“I’m afraid at this point in the investigation, we have very little go on except speculation, your ladyship.”

“Indeed. An ice pick is very thin, I suppose—and they do get a curve to them, over time, if they’re used improperly. You’re welcome to search the kitchen. Onarkus, the cook, will assist you. Or at least, he will if you tell him I said he must.”

“Thank you, your ladyship—we did have a peek in the kitchen last night, to little success, I’m afraid. I believe that’s all for now. Roberts, do you have any questions?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward. “Lord Eugenides mentioned Nahuseresh sent you a letter. Is that the only communication you’ve had from him, your ladyship, and do you have it still?”

“Yes, and yes.” She stood and walked over to the writing desk. She unlocked the top drawer and withdrew an envelope, and after a moment of hesitation left the key on the desk. “I’ll leave this here, shall I? In case you feel the need to search the room.”

“Thank you, your ladyship,” Roberts said, accepting the letter.

“Is there anything else you wish to know?”

“No, thank you very much, Lady Attolia,” Battle said. “If you would ask Mr. Edai to come up next.”

“Certainly.”

She closed the door behind her as she left. For a moment, as she turned, her grey eyes flashed silver—and Battle had the distinct sense that Lady Attolia knew exactly what had happened in her library the night before. Then the door shut, and she was gone.

**III**

Kamet Edai entered the room with the slipperiness that Superintendent Battle associated with a very well-trained butler. One moment he wasn’t there, and the next he was.

“Ah,” Battle exclaimed. “Good morning. You are Kamet Edai, correct?”

“That is correct.”

“Sit down, please. Can you tell us your address?”

The secretary nodded as he perched on the chair, and gave an address in a fashionable London neighborhood. Battle examined him surreptitiously as he wrote it down. He was very neatly dressed in an old but well-made suit, and the expression behind his gold-rimmed spectacles was calm. But even so, Battle sensed that he was nervous. There was a pallor underneath his dark skin, and his hands twisted slowly in his lap. It could just be a natural distrust of the police—foreign types often distrusted the police, and from what Battle had heard of the Mede Empire, that was a perfectly reasonable reaction. Or….

“Very good. And how long have you been with Mr. Nahuseresh?”

“Oh—all my life, practically. I was an apprentice to his father’s secretary when I was a boy, and the family sent me to the British school in Sidusa to finish my education. I started working for Mr. Nahuseresh once I finished.”

“Did you like him?” Battle asked bluntly.

“We were well accustomed to each other,” Edai said, which was a very elegant way to dodge the question. “He was a demanding employer, but I knew how to handle him fairly well. He could be generous, and he encouraged me in some of my personal projects, which I appreciated.”

“I heard that he treated you rather badly,” he said, making a guess. It was a dart casually flung, but it met its mark—Edai flushed.

“ _They’ve_ all told you that, have they? The English have a very different approach to their servants with the Medes do—starting with the fact that they don’t necessarily consider private secretaries to be ‘in service.’ They were offended on my behalf when he asked me to bring up the breakfast tray, for example. But I assure you, Superintendent, _I_ was not insulted by Mr. Nahuseresh’s—er—high expectations.”

There was something underneath all this fuss, but Battle sensed that the secretary was on edge and unlikely to elaborate if pressed.

“You mentioned Mr. Nahuseresh’s father—would you mind telling us about his family situation? I understand he was very well-connected in the Mede Empire.”

“Yes. His father, Mr. Tiridata Nahuseresh, is the brother of the current emperor, His Imperial Highness Ghasnuvidas the Third. The elder Mr. Nahuseresh was a prominent figure in the court and led to the establishment of parliament after the First World War, which saved the crown from bankruptcy.”

“Ah, yes. PM, wasn’t he?”

“Not quite. That would have been too close to a coup for the emperor’s liking. As a matter of fact, to keep that branch of the family from becoming too independent, the emperor fostered Mr. Nahuseresh and his elder brother for much of their childhoods. He eventually adopted Mr. Nahuseresh’s brother, Mr. Naheelid, who is the current Prime Minister.”

“I see. Aside from his brother and the emperor, is his family still living?”

“His parents are both deceased, and he has no other siblings. He has a wife, and a sister-in-law and a little niece and nephew, and some second and third cousins. I believe all of them are still in Medea. Mr. Nahuseresh has been living in England for the past two years following an—er—altercation with his wife.”

“Would you care to elaborate?” Battle asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, his pursuit of an affair with Lady Attolia during the war was a little more public than is seemly in the Mede Empire. She threatened to bring charges of adultery against him, which is a very serious thing over there, but finally agreed to drop it on the condition that she be given a modest allowance and residence in one of their country estates. They accidentally crossed paths several times in Medea, so he has found residence in London more comfortable as a result.”

Battle asked him several more questions in that vein, regarding family, income, and properties. Edai gave prompt answers, if somewhat vague with regards to business, and Battle made a note to thoroughly verify everything at the soonest opportunity.

He paid special attention to Nahuseresh’s will, but it seemed unlikely as a motive. The primary beneficiary was Nahuseresh’s brother, but he was a public figure, himself quite wealthy, and living a thousand miles away. Nahuseresh’s estranged wife, Edai, and a housekeeper also received legacies. All very straightforward—although there was always the possibility that the “small legacy” was, in fact, more substantial than the secretary let on.

“Very good, Mr. Edai, thank you. Let us turn to the day of the murder. Can you give us an account of your master’s movements throughout the day?”

“He had his breakfast tray sent up at 8:30. He washed and dressed, and we reviewed some messages from London that had come up that morning and the day before.”

“Do you remember what they were about?”

“Yes. There was a bill from his tailor, two invitations to private dinners—from Mr. Anthony Belgrave and the Dowager Countess of Chesterfield, I think. There was a thank-you letter from a law firm he had worked with recently. Oh, those had all come that morning except for the bill. The last letter, the bill, and the telegram had come the day before, in the late post. The letter was from Mr. Melheret, the current Mede ambassador, thanking him for taking on an investment and wishing him a good trip.”

“And do you remember what the telegram said?”

“Yes, it said ‘King H on the 25th, not later than 8:00. The King Henry is a hotel in London. I asked if my master wanted me to add an appointment to the diary for next month, but he said not to worry, he wasn’t sure if he’d like to keep it or not. After that, he dismissed me and I went to have lunch. He said he was going to find Mr. Erondites later for luncheon. I’m not sure how he spent the afternoon, although I know he went for a walk with Lady Attolia, and I believe at one point he spoke to Mr. Sounis.” He smiled faintly. “When he came up to dress for dinner, he said he found the man tiresome.”

“And how did _you_ spend the afternoon, Mr. Edai, if you were not with your master?”

“I—” To his surprise, Edai seemed embarrassed again. “I was in the library for most of the day. Working on—er—my book. I translate ancient poetry, you see, when I have the time.”

“You were alone all afternoon?”

“General Teleus was there when I had luncheon, and my master and Mr. Erondites came in as I was leaving. Costis found me in the library later—I didn’t look at my watch, but at a guess it was between 1:30 and 2:30. At 5 o’clock I went downstairs for a few moments to sit in the kitchen garden, and then back to my room. At 6:15 I went to help Mr. Nahuseresh dress for dinner. We ate at 7:00 and went into the drawing room around 8:00. His lordship poured cocktails for everyone—”

“Pardon—I thought the manservant did that.”

“Who, Costis? No, Costis set out the glasses and passed them around, but Lord Eugenides mixed the drinks. It involved a bit of juggling, which I gather he was very proud of. Really, he acts more like a member of a circus troupe than a peer,” he said with a sniff—just like any servant disapproving of the nouveau riche. Battle hid a smile. “Around 8:15, my master said he had some business to take care of and went to the library.”

“Do you know what business?”

“Not exactly. Typically he only wrote letters by hand to his brother, his wife, or his uncle the emperor, but sometimes, if he had a tricky political issue, he liked to jot down some thoughts before passing it on to me. I assumed it was something like that, because he said he might ask for me later. After half an hour or so, he still hadn’t come down, but he liked to have an evening coffee, so I brought him some.”

“Did he say anything then, about what he was working on?”

“No.”

“Come, come, Mr. Edai. No use keeping a dead man’s secrets if they’re protecting his murderer.”

“He didn’t say anything,” Edai insisted. “I put the coffee down and left, and he hadn’t said a word—he didn’t, sometimes, if he was cross.”

“And was he cross yesterday?”

“No, as a matter of fact. He was in a remarkably good mood. I don’t know why. I think he liked to… I believe the English saying is ‘to put the cat among the pigeons,’ is it not?”

“Ah,” Battle said, encouraging. “A bit of a troublemaker.”

“Yes. I—” He hesitated again. “This is just an inclination—I believe he had some business with a member of the household. I don’t know who or what, only that he alluded to an investment he was going to be making. I suspect that was the purpose of our visit to this out-of-the-way place, and the fact that a business deal was turning in his favor while he also had the opportunity to… verbally joust, shall we say, with old opponents… it put him in a very good mood indeed.”

“Hm. What kind of investment, do you think?”

“Something quite… oh, I don’t know how to put it. My master was a shrewd businessman and diplomat, but more than business or politics, he knew _people._ Much of his income in London comes from consulting, and much of that work involves learning about competition. For example, he might send me to talk to the secretary of a director somewhere, and learn that the man is a gambler in need of money, and—”

“Blackmail?”

“Goodness, no! No, nothing so crude. I mean he would take that information back to his client and tell them to bargain hard on a contract, because the man is so desperate for any amount. Or he would learn that So-and-So has a mistress, meet him for dinner and confess his own love affairs, or make one up, to create a friendship and earn a better deal. That sort of thing. He was marvelous at finding the exact work of art or vintage of wine that would turn an acquaintance to a friend. Sometimes he told me what he was doing, but sometimes not. As I said, he could be generous—he liked to have little surprises, sometimes.”

“That is very helpful, Mr. Edai, thank you. So, Nahuseresh was in a good mood but not talkative. You gave him the coffee, and then…?”

“I went back downstairs. I passed Costis on the landing. I think Lady Helen went up to her room at one point. Mr. Sounis came back to the drawing room, and then Costis later. Everyone went to bed except Lord Eugenides and Costis, who was attending him. I was tired, but I didn’t want to retire without checking on my master. I went back up to the library. The door was locked. I tried the handle and called out, but when I got no response, I went downstairs to see if there was a key. I thought—perhaps he had fallen asleep…” He trembled.

“There now, that’s all right. We know the rest. Just one thing more—you are the only one who had been in the room prior to finding the body. Was there anything different that you noticed? Anything out of place—or missing?”

“There was some water, by the window. I remember thinking lucky it hadn’t gotten on the bookshelves—and then what a terrible thought when there was a dead body in the room.”

“That was all you noticed?”

“I think so.”

“What about the desk?” Battle prodded. “Nahuseresh was up there, working, for at least half an hour by your account. Did you get a glimpse of what he had on the desk?”

“Oh—oh, yes, I forgot. He did have some papers on the desk when I went up to see him. I didn’t read them, but the top sheet was very full of writing. But I didn’t notice them again afterwards. I was only in the room for a moment. Lord Eugenides told Costis to take me back to my room and call the police, and he came in a moment later with a sedative.”

“And you took it?” Battle asked sardonically. “Just after discovering a murder?”

“Yes—why wouldn’t… oh!”

“I think you’re a brave man, Mr. Edai. A very brave man.”

**IV**

After some consideration, Battle had Costis Ormentiedes up next. He was a tall man, with untidy dark blond hair and a rather stupid face, but his eyes were keen. They sized up Superintendent Battle and then Inspector Roberts, and he introduced himself politely in a voice with a soft Devon burr. Battle deduced that he wouldn’t get much out of Orementiedes if he went too quickly. He introduced both of them again and chatted for a minute about the weather and the house before turning the topic to the murder.

“Bad business, this, isn’t it?”

“Oh—yes it is, rather,” Costis said, quite obviously having never given it a moment’s thought.

“Had you met Mr. Nahuseresh before this?”

“No.”

“You hadn’t met him in the Mid East when Lord Eugenides was there? Or when he was here in Ephrata?”

“No, sir. I was in the Army during the war. I never met my lord until afterwards, when he had married her ladyship and they came back to Devon. He needed a sort of jack-of-all-trades man, and I got roped into it.”

“What do you think of his lordship?” Battle asked impulsively, thinking of Eugenides’s unexpected defense of the young man.

“He can be the devil to work for,” Costis admitted quite cheerfully. “He’s got his whims, and he _pokes_ at people, like. But he’s a good man. Kind, sometimes, and not nearly as foolish as he likes to seem.”

“I see. And Mr. Nahuseresh? What did you think of him?”

Costis clammed up immediately. He hemmed and hawed and then went quiet, awaiting the next question.

“Care for a smoke?” Battle offered.

“Thanks.”

They took a moment to indulge in the time-honored masculine tradition of passing, lighting, and smoking tobacco, and Costis relaxed a bit. He exhaled a mouthful of smoke, looked Battle in the eye, and said, “Telling the truth, sir, he deserved it.”

“A knife to the heart?” Battle prodded gently.

“And more! He was an absolute rotter. He spent half the time here saying nasty things out of the corner of his mouth, and the other half ordering Kamet—Mr. Edai—around and shouting at him just as if he were a dog. And the kind of things he implied about the lord and lady, I just couldn’t tell you. I’m sure he was crooked, too—he was secretive with his things and never answered questions straight. I can imagine a thousand reasons why a man like that might get himself murdered. Granted, I can’t tell you who did it. I don’t have any _particular_ knowledge in that line.”

“Did anyone seem to resent him?”

“Oh, no. Her ladyship handled him very well, given how rude he was—saying snide things about the housekeeping and his lordship all the time. Really, I think _I_ was the one who had the worst time holding my temper around him. But I didn’t do it.”

“How did Lord Eugenides like him?”

“He didn’t,” Costis said, frowning. “Most men don’t get along with their wives’ other suitors, do they? But it seems more likely that the loser murders the winner than the other way ’round.”

“One has to consider all angles. Can you tell us about yesterday? About your movements and such?”

“I was with my lord for most of the morning. We went down to lunch a bit late, and then Lord Eugenides met her ladyship for a walk.”

“She had been walking with Nahuseresh, hadn’t she?”

“Well—yes.”

“What did his lordship think about that?”

“He thought she would much rather walk with her husband, and I fancy he was right. They told me I was done for the afternoon. I went to the library again. K—Edai was there, working on some of his poems. He showed me some of them the other day. Rather interesting, I thought.”

“And you were there all afternoon?”

“No.” Costis hesitated. “I went down at some point to take a walk around the peninsula.”

“Did you meet anyone?”

“No. I just—I fancied a walk. It looked like it was going to rain soon, so I went to get some air, and then I went in to help Lord Eugenides dress for dinner.”

“How was the dinner?”

“Fine.”

“Did anyone strike you as upset—nervy, perhaps?”

“I don’t think so. It was quiet, but my lord and Nahuseresh were both in good moods and hardly snapped at each other, and so things weren’t as tense as they had been once or twice before. Afterwards we went into the drawing room. My lord and I poured drinks, and Teleus suggested a game of billiards. I played a few rounds with him and Mr. Sounis, but he was missing Lady Helen. Very attached, they are. He went back to the drawing room at about 9 o’clock.”

“Are you quite sure of the time?” Roberts interrupted.

Costis blinked.

“Well… it could have been a few minutes earlier…” 

“Not later?”

“No, definitely not. Because I had gone up at a quarter-to to fetch my cigarettes from my room, and it wasn’t long after that that he left.” He paused. “I heard Nahuseresh alive.”

“Did you?” Battle asked, raising his eyebrows at the unexpected pivot.

“Yes. I ran into Kamet as he was leaving, and I heard Nahuseresh talking to himself through the doorway. Muttering, like. I couldn’t tell the words.”

“I see. Did you leave the billiards room at any other time?”

“No. Well—no.”

“Well?”

“I didn’t go anywhere else in the house. Teleus fancied he saw something out the window. There’s a small sort of parapet, and you can step out one of the windows and walk along it for a little distance, but I didn’t go far. Awfully slippery. I was only out of view for thirty seconds or so.”

“What did he think he saw?”

“He wasn’t sure. Something big that tapped against the window for a moment. I expect it was a tree branch or a sea bird. We get great big ones sometimes—last summer an egret damn near walloped me over the head.”

“Did Teleus leave the room?”

“No, not until he went to bed. I went back to the drawing room. Most everyone went up to bed, and my lord mixed up more cocktails. He offered one to Kamet, too, but then he decided he ought to check on Nahuseresh first, and make sure he weren’t needed. He came back down and said the door was locked, but there isn’t a spare key. We went up and he told me to break down the door, and we found Nahuseresh lying there on the desk. I tried to shake him awake and then saw that he’d been stabbed. And—and that was all.”

“Just so. Did you notice anything unusual about the room?”

“Unusual? No.”

“Nothing about the desk or its surroundings?”

“No, it looked much the same as always.”

“How well do you know the rest of the party?”

“Not too well, I should say, except for Phresine. She’s a sweet old thing. I never met Kamet until this week. Sounis I’d heard of, but he and Lady Helen only just got engaged. Seems a decent chap. I know my lord and her ladyship are both very fond of Lady Helen—she comes to visit sometimes. She’s his cousin, I suppose you know. Her father was the earl, but with the entail it went to his lordship’s father instead when he died, which doesn’t seem fair to me, but I’ve never heard her complain. I don’t know her very well, but I do like her. Erondites—well, him I don’t have any opinion on.”

He sniffed, less like a hardy manservant and more like a Victorian aunt. Battle coughed to hide his laugh.

“Why is that?”

“I met him for the first time right after his lordship came to Devon, and would you believe he offered me money to tell nasty stories about him? And him my employer _and_ a war hero! Nasty business. I don’t hold with that sort of thing—slandering good people in the newspapers. They’ve done enough of that to her ladyship already. No decent way to make a living.”

“And General Teleus?”

“Oh! Of course, yes, him I know well, too. Grand old fellow. Helped my father out when he first arrived in country. He got him a job with her ladyship, and was always around when I was growing up. Used to drop by every once in a while, give my sister and I a toffee for reciting the kings, that sort of thing, and then when I told him I was thinking of joining the Army, he gave me a hand there, too.”

“Hm,” Battle noted. “Thank you, Ormentiedes. Is there anything else you think might be useful?”

Costis considered it for a moment, then replied in the negative. Battle stared thoughtfully at the door.

“In other words,” he said. “He would lie for the old general any day of the week and twice on Sundays.”

“Cynical, aren’t we?” Roberts commented.

“Perils of the profession. This is a challenging household, in that regard. Devoted servants, family members, old friends. If anyone’s lying—and you can believe they’re all lying—it’ll be the devil of the thing to get to the truth of it.”

“Yes...”

**V**

Sophos Sounis shuffled into the room like a shy yearling just grown into its legs. He had very blue eyes and a crop of strawberry-blonde curls that looked rather feminine—although a crooked nose, strong jaw, and a knotted scar on his lip gave him a strong resemblence to his late, famous uncle, the arms dealer.

“Good morning,” he said in a posh accent. “The constable said you’d like to see me.”

“If you’ve got a moment, sir,” Battle said, instantly adopting a warm schoolmaster’s tone. “Have a seat there—cigarette? No? That’s all right. Why don’t you give Roberts your name and address first, just to get the formalities out of the way. Now, you’re engaged to Lord Eugenides’s cousin, is that right?”

“Yes,” the young man said, brightening at the thought. “Gen was the one who introduced us, as a matter of fact. Awfully good pal.”

“Is he? We’ve heard he’s—er—a bit challenging.”

“Oh, yes, half the time you don’t understand what he’s thinking—always plotting something or other. But for the best. Heart of gold, really.”

“And Mr. Nahuseresh?”

Sounis flushed to the roots.

“Well… I barely knew him. And one doesn’t like to speak ill of the dead, does one?”

“Yes one does,” Battle said cheerfully. “When the police are relying on it. My good friend M. Poirot always says, it’s the character of the victim you need to understand—the psychology! Psychology’s not quite my line, but still, I need the facts if I’m to discover who killed him.”

“The facts. Yes.” Sounis shifted in his seat, eyeing the ceiling for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Nahuseresh was—sort of a prickly fellow. He was always ordering Edai about in a very rude way. Ungentlemanly. And I don’t think he and Gen got along very well, because Nahuseresh had flirted with Irene before she got married, and rather continued in that line afterwards, too.”

“What do you mean, they didn’t get along?”

“Oh, nothing _violent._ Lots of Nahuseresh giving a sort of backhanded compliment, and Gen saying something rude, and Nahuseresh smiling at him like he’d won a point. That kind of thing. He was often very short with people, too. I don’t think anyone here was on intimate terms with him, although he and Mr. Erondites did talk politics sometimes.”

“Had you ever met him before? Mr. Nahuseresh?”

“No… not exactly. My uncle’s company had some—er—business with Medes when I took over, and I believe our contact was an associate of his. But we had never met in person—oh, except at a sort of gala thing Helen and I went to a few weeks back in London. Hellos over cocktails, that sort of thing, but there was a terrific crush of people and I don’t think we spoke more than a few sentences.”

“Why don’t you tell us how the evening went?”

“Yes, of course. We had dinner at 7 o’clock. After that, we went into the drawing room. Gen and Costis mixed up cocktails. Although Nahuseresh preferred remchik—that’s a Mede liquor. I’ve had it before and it’s rather marvelous. Costis and Teleus invited me to play a few rounds of billiards, so I did, but I’m not very good, and I didn’t think Helen would enjoy herself talking to Sejanus all night, so I went back—”

“At what time?”

“9:10 or thereabouts.”

“See, that’s curious, Mr. Sounis,” Battle said, his eyes glinting like iron nails in his wooden face. “Because Lady Attolia said the same—but Mr. Ormentiedes claims that you left the billiards room a good quarter of an hour earlier.”

“Did he?” Sounis said faintly, his cheeks pinking once more. “Well—perhaps I went upstairs. Yes—yes, now that you’ve reminded me—I thought I would go up to get a book I wanted to show Mr. Edai. He’s working on a translation of some old Mesopotamian epic, I understand, so I thought he might enjoy a new version of Ovid done by a friend of mine. But I couldn’t find it. So stupid, isn’t it, that you can never find a thing just when you want it? So—so I looked around my bedroom for a while, and then I went back downstairs.”

“You never went near the library?”

“No, no. I shouldn’t have liked to disturb Mr. Nahuseresh. I told you, I didn’t like him.”

“Mm. When you were upstairs, did you see anyone else?”

“Helen was at the bottom of the stairs as I went down. That was all.”

“All right. What happened after that?”

“Irene had played the piano, I gather, so we all talked of music for a while, and she encouraged Mr. Edai to recite some poetry. Very good, although a primitive style. I made a little recitation, too—Vergil. Gen left for a little while, when there was a break in the rain. I think… I’m almost sure he was gone when Mr. Edai was talking, but I’m not sure when that was. Helen went to bed at 9:45. Erondites insisted on talking about politics. Dull, but I couldn’t think of how to get away. In the end he went up to bed, and I followed after saying goodnight to my hosts. That was all, until this morning when we heard about the murder.”

“Indeed. How long was Lord Eugenides out of the room?”

“Five or ten minutes, no longer.”

“Is there anything else we ought to know, Mr. Sounis? Anything useful. Think carefully, mind—the smallest thing could have significance. A snippet of conversation, something out of place…”

“Well…” Sounis hesitated. “I don’t see how it could have anything to do with the murder, but—I rather think someone went through my room.”

“Really? What makes you say that?”

“Oh, just little things. I brought some, um, paperwork, and it was out of order one morning—a cufflink that was in a drawer fell and rolled underneath the bureau and I can’t think when. That sort of thing. And I thought, perhaps, that I saw Erondites trying to get into Eugenides and Irene’s bedroom. He said he had just mixed up the doors, because his room was next to theirs, but… well, I don’t know.”

“Hm, that is interesting.” Battle glanced at Roberts.

“Did you bring a weapon to Ephrata, Mr. Sounis?”

“A weapon? What, like…?” Robert shrugged carelessly. “Er—yes, I did, as a matter of fact. A pistol. Just—not to _use,_ you understand. But Eugenides and Irene gave me a really wonderful pair after the war. I was in a POW camp, you see, for some time.”

Roberts did a double-take at this news, but Battle merely nodded. It had been covered in the papers, especially the London papers—rich young heir to an arms magnate missing, presumed dead, only to be returned in perfect health, with a menacing (or dashing, according to the speaker’s gender and age) scar, to claim his inheritance at the close of the war.

“It was a sort of joke, you see? So that I wouldn’t ever be disarmed again. I always carry one of the pistols when I travel. But that doesn’t matter. I mean, Nahuseresh _was_ stabbed, wasn’t he?”

“He was. You don’t carry a knife?”

“A pocket-knife, that’s all. I don’t have it with me—it’s in my luggage. Shall I fetch it?”

Battle assured him that wouldn’t be necessary. A pocket-knife could hardly have made the wound that killed Nahuseresh. He asked a few more questions, not expecting to get much, and Sounis had little to give. The superintendent soon dismissed him.

“Time in a POW camp?” Roberts said as the door shut quietly. “That skittish fellow?”

“Oh yes. A house of unlikely war heroes, this, between Eddis and Sounis. Two men you’d never dream of it. Erondites, too—I’m sure I’ve seen a photograph of him somewhere or other in a service uniform. And Ormentiedes and Teleus… No lack of men with nerves of steel who wouldn’t hesitate to stick a knife in someone if they thought it just—or if they were cornered…”

On this unpleasant thought, they paused, just as there was a soft, inconspicuous knock on the door. They exchanged a look.

“Come in.”

The woman who entered had a soft face and neat waves of powder-grey hair.

“Pardon,” she said. “I’ve put out a cold luncheon for everyone—it seemed the best thing to do, under the circumstances. You gentlemen are quite welcome to partake, if you wish, either at table or in the kitchen if you’d prefer privacy—or I could bring out a tray?”

“Ah. You must be Mrs. Phresine.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. We will go to the kitchen—I’d like to speak to the cook for a moment, anyway.”

“Certainly.” She sat down and folded her hands in her lap, exuding calm competency. “Although I think I should first tell you what I saw last night.”

Battle sat straight up.

“What you saw, ma’am?”

“Yes. I went to bed quite early, so there’s not much I have that would be useful. But I saw someone go into the library late last night.”

“When was this?”

“At 8:54 or near enough. One becomes a light sleeper in old age. At some point in the night, I thought I heard a knock on the door, although I was asleep and I can’t say for sure. It might have been something bumping against the outer wall, or falling in another room or something like that. I checked my clock and got up to go to the door. There was no one there, but as I looked down the hall, I saw a tall, light-haired man go into the library.”

“I see.” Battle flipped through his notebook. “Are you sure it was the library, Mrs. Phresine?”

“Yes.”

“It was not Mr. Ormentiedes’s room? Or Mr. Sounis’s? Both have already told us they went upstairs at some point in the evening.”

“No, certainly not. Mr. Sounis’s room is right near mine, and Costis’s is on the opposite side of the hall.”

“Indeed. Thank you, Mrs. Phresine, that is most helpful. Have you any idea who might have had a grudge against Nahuseresh? Anyone who might wish him harm?”

The housekeeper stood.

“Really, Superintendent,” she said with an indulgent smile. “It would be quite crass to speculate.”

“Phew!” Battle said as the door closed behind her. “How do you like that? Put in my place, just like an errant schoolboy!”

“Tall and light-haired,” Roberts said. “That puts Lord Eugenides and the secretary right out of it.”

“And Erondites. Sounis and Ormentiedes are both blond-haired, and Teleus is starting to grey. Of course, it might not have been the murderer. The doctor said the murder could have happened even a full half-hour later. It could have been someone doing business of some kind with Nahusersh, and the murder crept in later.”

“Yes—but it is suggestive, is it not?”

“Yes, it is suggestive.”


	4. Chapter 4

“The trouble is,” Battle mused over his tinned salmon sandwich. “This is an extraordinary group of people, and when you consider them from the right light—well, I’d believe any one of them could have done it. One or two exceptions, perhaps, but…”

He shrugged. They were alone in the kitchen, having already interviewed the cook and the maids and gotten nothing except some ominous _feelings_ the maids were both certain they had had.

“Her ladyship is cold as anything,” Roberts said with a nod. “Just the type to slip a knife between a man’s ribs, if the idea struck her—pity she never left the room. Although,” he grinned. “In the midst of all that coming and going, and her ladyship being the timekeeper, perhaps she managed to slip out with the rest of them none the wiser.”

“I can’t imagine not noticing her ladyship, though, can you?” Battle asked dryly. “But even those who seem less likely—they’re perfectly likely, if you think it over. Take Sophos Sounis and Eugenides Eddis—can you think of any two men who seem less dangerous, on the face of it? Sounis all nervous and schoolboyish, and Eddis too cocky by half. All talk, you’d say, and with only one hand, hardly worth worrying about. And yet Eddis came home with a false hand and medals in service to the Crown. Sounis had quite a good war record despite all his dithering, so I’d lay money on him being handy in a pinch. Erondites earned a medal or two as well, I think, and if he’s half as cutthroat in life as his father is in business, he’s a dangerous sort. Then you’ve got Ormentiedes and Teleus—not as flashy, perhaps, the type who are often overlooked, but neither would bat an eye at killing a man if they thought it their duty. Edai is perhaps less likely, but a cornered animal will lash out if it has to.”

“And Lady Helen, sir?” Roberts asked, grinning again. “Do you think she’s one of these socialist revolutionaries?”

“Well, she wouldn’t stab a foreigner then, would she? She’d go for a member of the House of Lords, I should imagine.”

“Perhaps just a fanatic, then, who got cross with him.”

“Perhaps, yes, in which case I suppose she’ll admit it the moment she’s confronted and make a long tiresome speech. This whole thing can be wrapped up by dinnertime.”

“Do you think it likely, sir?”

“No, no I don’t.” Battle sighed. “It’s rarely that simple.”

“So we’re not further along than we were this morning.”

“I wouldn’t say that. There are points of interest, certainly. That fifteen minute gap between when Sounis was in the billiards room and the drawing room, that’s interesting. I’m a skeptical sort—he could have been fetching a book, but I’ll not take his word for it. That would just fit the time the housekeeper saw someone go into the library. Then again, she had been asleep and might have got the time wrong. Say the hands were just five minutes off and she muddled it—got 8:54 when really it was 8:49. Or her clock gains. That could fit when Ormentiedes admitted to going upstairs. Lord Eugenides, too, was vague about when and why he left the room, and I hope you noticed he was the only one her ladyship didn’t even try to find a time for. That’s suggestive, very suggestive. Did he ask her to lie? Did she lie of her own accord because she suspects him? We don’t know.

“Then there are these missing papers. Possibly they have nothing to do with the murder. Possibly Nahuseresh put them away himself and then went back to the library afterwards—or Edai, Ormentiedes, or his lordship found them when they opened the door and took them for some other reason. Or possibly the murderer took them himself. The secretary _says_ Nahuseresh wasn’t involved in any blackmail, but these devoted servants, they’ll say anything. It might be the well had run dry and he was preparing to expose his target, and came here to toy with them a bit more. Sounds like just the thing he’d go for, if you ask me.”

“Should we search the rooms now, sir? In case the papers are still on the property?”

“No, not yet. Either the papers are important to the thief, in which case we’ll soon as find them after we conduct our interviews, or they’re dangerous, in which case every one of them had time alone last night to destroy them, and another hour or two won’t help.”

“Then how will we ever find who did it?”

“We’ll ask questions and listen to the answers, and we’ll keep a sharp eye out. That’s all we can do.”

**I**

When they had finished their lunch, they went back to the morning room to resume the interviews. The first to come in was General Teleus. He was a tall man with a tanned face, lined from the sun and hard in a way that brokered no nonsense. He was not, Battle suspected, old enough to be one of those old bores always droning on in a club somewhere. He was too sharp for that—if anything, he was inclined to talk in brisk, staccato sentences, getting to the heart of the matter without much hullabaloo.

“Good of you to speak to us,” Battle said.

“Of course, of course. Got to do one’s duty.”

“Quite. Will you begin by telling us how you came to know the current party? I believe you are a friend of Lady Attolia’s, correct?”

“Knew her father, the late Lord Attolia. He hadn’t got brains like his daughter—always had money troubles, and he bounced between England and India trying to keep ahead of creditors. I met her there when she was a girl, and we kept in contact after her father died, God rest him. First-class brain _she’s_ got, and more in terms of principles, too.”

“And her husband? What do you think of him?”

“Humph,” Teleus said. It was an eloquent humph.

“Not quite pukka sahib,” Battle suggested.

“Just so, superintendent, although it’s old-fashioned to say it. Mind you, some of Irene’s suitors were worse. That first husband of hers—John encouraged the match, and I always told him it was a poor one. Felt bad about it afterwards, of course, when he died, but it’s the truth. All for the better. And at least Eddis comes from a good family. His father is the goods, all right.”

“His father the earl, yes?”

“Yes. Works in the War Ministry—I’ve met him once or twice. Not a talker, but a thinker and a doer, and that’s what counts. Come to think of it, though, I think Eddis and his father don’t speak. Heard rumblings about it in London. He’s got two older brothers, you know, and a few sisters, and I don’t think he often goes down to see his father when they do.”

“Hm. And the other members of the party? Had you known them before?”

Teleus’s eyes flashed.

“Nahuseresh I’d known from the war. Couldn’t think what Irene saw in him. He was always a slippery fellow, and doing his best to rob her blind. I’d met Sejanus here and there, on my jaunts to London. Pompous ass. His father and I belong to one or two clubs in common. The older boy, now, he’s a decent sort—useless, but harmless, you understand. Sejanus can be plenty likable, when he wants to be, but he often doesn’t want to be!”

“I understand.”

“Costis is a good lad, though. And Lady Helen’s all right. As a rule, I don’t hold with Labour, but she’s not one of these frothing-at-the-mouth socialists. One of the most frightfully competent women you’ll ever meet. That young man of hers is damned lucky, and he knows it. Practically falling over her at every moment.”

“Were any of them acting—strange, the last few days? Withdrawn, nervous, perhaps? Or acting especially aggrieved towards the deceased?”

“Eddis couldn’t resist tussling with Nahuseresh. Childish, but… well, sometimes you wanted to applaud him for it. Like watching a dog bite a fellow you don’t like. It’s beneath your dignity to hit the man yourself, and strictly speaking the dog _shouldn’t_ bite, but it’s good to see all the same.”

Battle coughed to hide a chuckle.

“Indeed.”

“Beyond that, I’d say the one acting strangest was Nahuseresh.” He hesitated. “I saw him, yesterday morning, lurking around by the equipment shed outside. Normally—” He puffed himself up. “I don’t go around poking in another man’s business, but he had no business being around there at that hour of the morning, and I admit, I was curious. I looked around myself, but I didn’t find anything amiss. Still, it was odd.”

“Could he have been meeting someone, do you think?”

“I suppose so. Funny place to meet someone at that hour. Looks suspicious no matter what you’re doing, and anyway, I didn’t see anyone. He was certainly alone when he left.”

“And did you see anyone else on your walk that morning?” Battle’s face was perfectly blank and rather cow-eyed in its stupidity, and Teleus fell right into the trap.

“No.”

“Very good. Only—let me check my notes—I could have sworn Lady Attolia said she met you when she went out before breakfast.”

“Oh yes. Yes, I did see Irene, when I was just about to go back into the house. She didn’t go near the shed then.”

“But she could have been coming from there in a roundabout way.”

“I don’t see why she would,” Teleus sniffed. “It’s her house, and if she were to arrange some business with one of her guests, she had more comfortable places to do it. Can’t imagine her having any kind of business with Nahuseresh, though, after the last mess.”

“I understand. What did you do for the rest of the day?”

“I was in my room for most of it, taking care of some business matters. My tenant is proving as much a headache as a benefit, and I was busy writing letters for a good while, except for lunch around noon and then to stretch my legs before dinner. That was just before 7:00.”

“And after dinner?”

“Played billiards with Costis and Sounis. Went to bed about quarter of 10.”

“Did you leave the room at all in that time?”

“No.”

“What about the other two?”

“Costis went to get matches once. Don’t remember when, but he was gone less than ten minutes. Sounis went back into the drawing room about 9:00. A little before, I think, because Costis jumped at the clock and missed a shot, and I gave him hell for it!”

“Aside from that, you didn’t hear anything, or see anything that might be relevant?”

“’Fraid not.”

Battle thanked him for his time and looked at Roberts, who raised his eyebrows.

“Mysterious dawn _rendezvous_ in an equipment shack?” the inspector asked in bad British French.

“Yes. I like that. I like that very much.”

**II**

The next person to interview was Helen Eddis. Some women would have shaken themselves to pieces, having waited several hours to be interviewed by the police, but Lady Helen was perfectly calm. She sat like a man in a business meeting, with her feet planted firmly on the ground and one elbow propped up on the arm rest.

“You are giving me a very frightful look, Superintendent,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Is this one of those modern police tactics—psychology—a stare designed to break a murderer’s will?”

“Not at all, Lady Helen,” Battle said with a touch of gallantry. “To be frank, I’ve dealt with more than a few politicians in my time, and most of them needed to be treated with a gentle hand, shall we say. And I was just looking at you and thinking to myself that you seem a very sensible person who might think _less_ of me if I were to bow and scrape in the usual fashion.”

“Oh, yes, most politicians are frightful egoists. I dare say I am, too, but not in that way. A woman who wants to get on in the world can get away with being plain, poor, _or_ silly, but she had better not be two and she certainly cannot be all three.”

Superintendent Battle commented graciously that he couldn’t see any of those words applying to Helen Eddis—and it was true, he thought, that although she was rather plain, she had a wonderfully warm smile that made her much more pleasant to look at than some of these cruel, heavily-made-up modern girls one sometimes met.

“Very well. To begin with, will you tell us how you know the other guests?”

“Certainly. We shall begin, then, with Eugenides, who is my cousin—one of my late father’s brother’s sons. We have a good number of cousins, but Gen and I grew up together and he’s always been one of my favorites. He’s a very good sort, Superintendent, even though he likes to play the rascal. Don’t let him fool you. He introduced Sophos to me a few years ago. They met each other on holiday in the Mediterranean, in some little misadventure such as my cousin is wont to have.”

“And how long have you been engaged?”

“Oh, it depends. We had an understanding, you see,” she said with mock solemnity. “Before he went over to France. But Sophos was far too gallant to consent to one of those quick wartime marriages and—well—” She shook off the unpleasantness of her memories. “What with one thing and another, we only got engaged about four months ago.”

“I see. And the rest of the party?”

“Irene I met through Eugenides, too, of course, although our paths had crossed once or twice before. I always thought she was rather ruthless and unpleasant, but really that’s an act. Or, no, I should say instead that Irene is very willing to be ruthless and unpleasant with people who have provoked her.”

“Such as…?”

“Such as Mede swindlers and newspaper men who print nasty lies. Still, I should be _thoroughly_ surprised to hear that she had stuck a knife in one of them. Because she is not a cruel person by nature, you understand. She is very principled. Loyal, attached to her friends, does her duty and good works and all that.”

“Costis Ormentiedes was a sort of ‘good works project’, yes?” Roberts contributed.

“I suppose you could say that. I believe his father worked for hers, or something like that. Costis is a good chap. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s very attached to Eugenides and Irene, and they’re very fond of him in return. Same with Phresine, who I really think knows all things about all people at all times. At least under this roof.”

“I gather from your comment about newspaper men that you’re not much fond of Mr. Erondites?” Battle suggested.

“Oh, perhaps that’s unfair,” Helen said, waving a hand. “Mr. _Sejanus_ Erondites isn’t all bad. Can’t trust him as far as you could throw him, of course, but really it’s his father that causes most of the trouble. Irene’s family was _heavily_ in debt to him at one point, and I think he rather preferred it that way—one can get money anywhere, but a marquess who owes you favors is harder to come by, you understand? He caused some unpleasantness when Irene paid off the debts, but that was before his younger son came into the picture at all. Although—” 

She paused. Battle leaned forward eagerly.

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Just something Eugenides said—I made a remark about how Eugenides didn’t seem to like Sejanus much, and he replied ‘of course not, why should I like a man who took a shot at me?’ But really, Eugenides is the most frightful liar. And since the victim in this case is a former Mede ambassador who was stabbed, rater than my cousin being shot, I can’t imagine it would be relevant even if it _were_ true.”

“Probably not,” Battle said amicably, although Roberts was scribbling furiously in his notebook. “Had you met the victim before?”

“Yes, but only briefly. There was a party at the embassy to witch we were both invited. We were introduced and talked for a few moments. I must say he wasn’t my sort, and I think the feeling was mutual.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Oh, the usual politics. He made a few jokes at the expense of Labour, but I didn’t rise to the bait—except once to acknowledge that I hardly expected the nephew of an emperor to value the will of the common people very highly, to which he countered that he was also the brother of a prime minister. I’m afraid I _may_ have suggested that the Mede democracy was a scam being perpetuated by his family on the downtrodden. A little too combative for canapés and champagne, but I console myself with the fact that Eugenides would have said worse.”

She smiled again, but Battle wasn’t fooled. _Nerves of steel, that one!_ he thought. _Hides it behind a bit of charm, but I’ll be damned if she isn’t every bit as ruthless as her ladyship… a fanatic? Perhaps!_

“I’m sure no one would blame you, Miss Eddis. I’m given to understand Mr. Nahuseresh often brought out that side of people.”

“Yes, he could be rather trying.”

“Did you speak to him much this week? Did he mention why he was here—or what he thought of the other guests?”

“No, I don’t think so. He complained about the weather and said a few vaguely complimentary things about the north country—I think he mentioned something about being a sightseer, but he can’t have been very devoted. He didn’t leave the house at all.”

“I see, thank you. What about his secretary, Kamet Edai? Did he say anything?”

“I did get the sense that he was puzzled. He made some comment about Nahuseresh’s usual traveling destinations—south of France, Italy, Mediterranean cruises, the like—and how this seemed out of the way.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “I think Mr. Edai was disappointed. He’s a very educated man, you see, fond of poetry, and I don’t think Cumbria pub songs have much merit in his mind. Sejanus was friendly with Nahuseresh, though, I think more so than the rest of us.”

“Did they have business, do you think?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. I never got that impression—they weren’t signing contracts in the drawing room. I meant only that, if the conversation split off into pairs, they were more likely to talk than the rest of us, and Mr. Erondites less likely to storm off in a huff.”

“Did you see Nahuseresh looking around outside at all? Near the equipment shack, for example?”

“No,” she sid, raising her eyebrows. “Although you’ve successfully intrigued me, Superintendent.”

“It’s a matter of interest. We have to look into everything, you see, even though I’m sure it’ll be rather pointless. Did you see anyone else near the shack—or go there yourself?”

“No on both counts, I’m afraid. Sophos went into town in the late morning, and I went to the front door to see him off, but I didn’t go around to that side of the house.”

“Very good. Can you tell us, then, about the rest of the evening?”

“Yes, of course. We ate at 7:00 and went into the drawing room about an hour later. I’ve been thinking it over, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got the times right. Phresine went up first, very soon after 8:00, and within a few minutes, Sophos, Costis, and General Teleus left to play billiards, and then Mr. Nahuseresh to go up to the library. He didn’t make plans to meet anyone or anything like that, except for Mr. Edai, who was the next to leave and check on him at 8:45. He came back, and then Eugenides said he was going to go out for a cigarette, which I thought was one of those absolutely inexplicable things my cousin does, because it was a chilly night even when the rain let up for a moment. I myself went upstairs to get a shawl, just on 9 o’clock.”

“And how long were you gone, Lady Helen?” Battle asked. His voice was casual, but Miss Eddis eyed him for a moment before she answered.

“Ten or fifteen minutes,” she said, chin lifting. “I don’t often visit this far north and I’d forgotten how chilly it can be even in summer. I had a shawl that matched the dress I was wearing, but which was very light, and a heavier one that did _not_ match. It took me a few moments to choose which one, and then I started to make a note to myself about certain things I needed my secretary to order. What with one thing and another, I lost track of time. And yes, theoretically I did have plenty of time during this adventure to sneak into the library, which is just next to my room, stab Nahuseresh, go back to my room and secret the knife somewhere—but I did not. I can provide you with the notes I made, or you can take me at my word.”

“There, there, Lady Helen, no one’s accused you of lying. But we _would_ like to see the note, if you don’t mind. We can’t very well take everyone at their word in this kind of investigation, much as we might like. There’s comparatively little evidence to go on, as of yet. We’re hoping these interviews will make all the difference.”

“Quite right.”

“Did you meet anyone upstairs while you were there?”

“No.”

“Not even your fiancé?”

Was it his imagination, or was there a very slight pause before she answered?

“Sophos came down after me. I think I saw him when I was still on the stair, coming from his room. Irene was playing the piano when I came in. Eugenides was back already, and Sophos went into the drawing room, too, instead of going back to billiards. Costis returned half an hour later, around quarter to 10. I went to bed soon after. I didn’t meet anyone on the way up, but I heard Teleus’s door shut.”

“Your room is very near to the library. Did you hear anything after you went to bed?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Very well. Did anyone strike you as acting particularly odd the day of the murder?”

“No.”

That was a definite pause.

“Are you quite sure about that, Lady Helen?” Roberts said gently.

Her expression became guarded, and her chin took on a mulish tilt.

“If you _must_ know—Irene was distracted towards the end of the evening, but it has nothing to do with the murder.”

“Distracted? Distracted how?”

“Distracted like Mr. Edai recited a poem that made her reflect on some personal troubles of longstanding that are not related to the murder in any way, and which I will not reveal to strange policemen,” she said frostily, and Battle bowed his head. He knew when he had been beaten. He thanked Lady Helen for her time and she left the room.

“What was _that,_ do you think, superintendent?” Roberts asked with keen interest. “Certainly suspicious!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Battle said, stretching his sore back. “Poetry does make people reflective, and there’s no shortage of personal troubles in the marchioness’s life, I should think—she is an orphan and a widow, don’t forget. Not that I’ll dismiss it out of hand, but might not be anything in it.”

**III**

The suspicious young man from the breakfast room entered the morning room with a very different attitude altogether—his head thrown back, chestnut-brown curls fashionably tousled, with a congenial smile suitably muted to the occasion. He was handsome, and gave every appearance of good humor, but there was a certain calculated affect to the entire thing, a shade of wariness. He strode towards the settee and offered a hand to shake.

“Superintendent Battle.”

He offered a careless nod to Roberts and sat down. _So, that’s how it is,_ Battle thought sardonically.

“I’m very eager to speak with you, Mr. Erondites.”

“Are you? You surprise me, Superintendent.”

“Yes. You see, everyone else in the house is _in it_ in some way—closely tied to other members of the house or the victim. Without casting aspersions, it’s very natural for them all to keep secrets for each other. Perfectly innocent secrets, maybe, which seem irrelevant to the murder, but it is difficult to get to the truth in that sort of environment. You, on the other hand, can be trusted to provide a more unbiased account.”

“I daresay I could,” Sejanus said. He was guarded, but Battle fancied the flattery had done its job, or at least warmed him up a little. Good. Sophos Sounis thought that Sejanus had been snooping in his rooms, and a snooper was the absolute best witness. He might not _admit_ that he had gotten any of his information from illicit means, but he might not be able to resist the urge to show off, regardless.

“To begin with, why don’t you tell me a little bit about how you know your hosts and the other guests.”

“Of course.” Sejanus paused, thinking. “Mr. Nahuseresh was the Mede ambassador to Britain towards the latter part of the war. I met him for the first time at a party given by my father, Baron Erondites, and a few times afterwards at our club in London and some other social occasions.”

“Were you on intimate terms?”

“I shouldn’t say so, no, but I liked him. He was a very amusing chap. He always seemed to know everything about everyone, was perfectly willing to share good stories provided you lose a hand or two at cards, and more often that not, picked up the check after drinks at the club.”

“I see. Did he tell you why he was up here for the week, then? No one else seems to know his business.”

“Really? Not even his secretary?”

“He says not, sir.”

“Well, if _I_ were you, I don’t know if I’d believe him. The man is quite a ghost—always appeared out of thin air whenever Nahuseresh wanted him, and probably read letters and lingered by the telephone. All those secretary types do. Anyway, Nahuseresh didn’t say anything to me about it, except that he thought it would be amusing and he enjoyed Lady Attolia’s company.”

“They were very close to being engaged at one point, weren’t they?”

“Were they? Perish the thought. I can’t imagine being that woman’s husband. She’s an absolute Tartar.”

“So you’re not fond of her, then? I’ve heard it said she was quite close to your family.”

For a moment, the congenial mask slipped, and there was a flash of rage on Sejanus’s face. He leaned back, crossed his legs carefully, and cleared his throat.

“I expect you’re thinking of my elder brother, Dite. He and Lady Attolia were _said_ to be great friends—yes. She and I have never got on so well.”

“Why is that, do you think?” Battle asked.

“I don’t suppose me disliking her is motive for either of us to kill Nahuseresh.”

“No, of course not. But, well—it’s as you said. Always nice to hear a good story, isn’t it? Being a policeman is really license to be a Nosy Parker more than anything!”

Sejanus snorted.

“Yes, I understand. Well, it’s like this. Dite wanted very badly to marry Lady Attolia for a while, and she always put him off. Really led him on—always inviting him to things and dancing with him and going on walks, and positively refusing to talk on the subject of marriage. I’m inclined to think she didn’t want my father for a father-in-law, which is her _right,_ of course, but mean-spirited to not say so. Then she married Lord Eugenides, and all but got Dite exiled.”

“Indeed! How so?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. I gather she—or her husband, I’m not sure which—threatened to go to the papers with some story or other. Actually, I suspect the husband. Probably didn’t want his wife’s other suitors hanging around.”

“That _is_ interesting,” Battle said, eyes glittering. “Very interesting, indeed. Do you take Lord Eugenides for a jealous type?”

“Oh, he’s a fool—and whatever she is, Lady Attolia is _not_ a fool. I can’t see what either of them intend to get out of marriage, really, except a good deal of money and land.”

“Had you met him before?”

“No, only after their marriage.”

“I gather there was… some unpleasantness, not too long ago,” Battle said at his most vague. “Some incident—with a rifle, perhaps?”

“What?” For a moment, Sejanus looked befuddled. “Oh! Oh, yes, that business last September. My father had quite a large party for shooting at his estate in Sussex, and Lord Eugenides and Lady Attolia—clumsy to keep saying it like that, isn’t it?—were invited. Eddis insisted on coming out with us, although I can’t think why. It’s not as though he could carry a rifle, let alone fire one. There was an accident. Someone shot him in the side. These things happen, you know, when there’s a large party, pheasants flying about, and some inexperienced fool gets tunnel vision and—bang! Healed up all right, though.”

“Yes,” Battle said. “These things do happen… I don’t suppose Mr. Nahuseresh was in attendance at this party?”

“No, he wasn’t. He’d gone over to the continent for something, I think.”

“Very good. Now, can you tell us how you know the other members of the household? Mr. Sounis, Lady Helen, General Teleus, Mrs. Phresine, and Costis Ormentiedes?”

“I shall do my best. Mr. Sounis and Lady Helen I come across every now and again in London. She and I do _not_ travel in the same circles, but my godfather is—or, rather, was—on the Board of Sounis Arms & Auto, so Sounis and I occasionally meet socially. Getting good conversation out of him is like pulling teeth, but he’s harmless enough, I suppose. Really _soppy_ over Lady Helen. For God’s sakes, it’s one thing to be engaged to be married and another to lose one’s dignity entirely!” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t be surprised if Lady Helen isn’t _quite_ so fond of him in return. Oh, she’s very polite and everything, but one wonders. Who else? Oh, Teleus. Teleus is always around. Runs up to London every now and again, and likely to be invited to every other hunting party one attends—not that one attends too many these days. Decent sort. Rather too decent, if you ask me, and he probably told you I was the devil incarnate. He shook my hand when I got back from the war, though. He hated to do it, but he did. Mrs. Phresine I don’t know at all. She’s been with Lady Attolia for ages, of course. And, hm, who else was there?”

“Costis Ormentiedes,” Battle repeated. His moustache quivered slightly as he tried to hide a smile. “I gather you had _business_ with him at one point, sir?”

“With Costis? That long-faced fellow who fusses over Eugenides like a mother hen? No, I don’t think so.”

“My mistake. What do you know of him?”

“Precious little. He’s the gardener’s son or some such thing, and he has absolutely no sense of humor but rather a bad temper. Actually, Sounis does too, now that I think of it. He blushes a lot, which sort of covers it up, but three or four times a day you can just _see_ him thinking ‘by God, I’d like to punch that man!’. Usually Nahuseresh, occasionally me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Erondites, that’s all very helpful. Now, can you tell us what you did yesterday?”

“Of course. I had breakfast around 8 o’clock, then took the car out for a little jaunt to the village. Not much there—I got back about noon, half past, something like that, for lunch. Nahuseresh was there. We talked of this and that. I’d had a letter from my brother the day before, so he asked after him, and then we talked of traveling. My brother is living in Italy, now, which Nahuseresh had been to several times. I think he was going to travel to the Mede Empire soon, abut I don’t know if he actually said so or if I just picked it up. Afterwards I came into this room because I’d left my letters on that little table there, and then I went up to my bedroom.”

“Is that when you had a little difficulty?” Battle asked pleasantly. Sejanus paused.

“Oh—Sounis has told you that, has he? Yes, I mistook the room next door for mine. It’s a small house, you see, and the hallways are positively gloomy sometimes. I got the right one in the end, but then I thought I didn’t want to be in that stuffy upstairs anyway, so I went down to the drawing room instead, and I was there until tea. Nahuseresh was in the hall, making a telephone call, and we passed each other on the stairs.”

“Really?” Battle asked, sitting straighter. “Did you happen to overhear anything of the call?”

“Well, I wasn’t _listening,_ but I heard the last bit. He mentioned Melheret, who is the current Mede Ambassador to Britain.”

“Did he? And was that all?”

“All I caught, I’m afraid. I don’t know when that was—the afternoon sometime. Maybe thirty minutes or an hour after I left lunch—maybe less. I was listening to the wireless until tea, and then I went up to my room to dress for dinner. When we were finished, we all went into the drawing room for coffee and cocktails. Rather good cocktails, I’ll give Eddis that. Some of the other men went off to play billiards, and Nahuseresh said he was going up to the library, and—he went up.”

“Are you sorry he’s dead?” Battle asked impulsively. Sejanus looked startled.

“Well, yes. It’s not pleasant to have a friend killed.”

Even so, Battle thought, Sejanus wasn’t _grieving._ No one in the house was, really. Even the victim’s secretary seemed badly shaken rather than grieved. He wondered if anyone would be truly sorry Nahuseresh was dead—his brother, perhaps, or his estranged wife, his cousins or his niece and nephew.

For a moment, he thought that was a very sad thing. Then he recalled that the nicest thing anyone in this house had to say about Nahuseresh was that he was generous sometimes and gave good gossip, and he thought it was probably his own fault if no one was sad to lose him. A thousand times or more Battle had heard that old maxim, “one _can’t_ speak ill of the dead,” and he could count on one hand the number of times it were true. It was a fact of a policeman’s life, he thought, that many, perhaps even most, people quite deserved some of the ill things said about them after death.

“Continue, please,” he said.

“Yes, well, not much was going on. Lady Attolia played the piano, for some reason, and then there was some old poetry recited. After Lady Helen went to bed, the talk turned to politics for a little while, and then I decided to retire. It was going on 10 o’clock by then. I didn’t hear anything from the library, but then my room is on the other side of the house.”

“The doctor puts the time of death before 9:30, sir, so it’s likely there was nothing to hear by that point.”

“I can’t tell if that’s ghastly or not.”

“Did you leave the drawing room at any point before going to bed?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Do you recall when others left?”

“Goodness, no. People were always coming in and out. Eddis must have left three times. Oh, I know the old general never came back after billiards, but Sounis and Ormentiedes did, the former earlier and the latter later. Aside from that—no, I’m sorry, I really couldn’t tell you.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Erondites. Tell me, in your opinion, was anyone acting off that night?”

“Everyone was very dull—a little more dull than usual, to tell the truth, especially Lady Attolia, and I suppose Lord Eugenides. But he kept running off, so it was hard to tell. That secretary was very quiet, too. Lady Helen was the only one who was as usual, I think.”

“And at any point during the day, did you go out to the equipment shed, or see anyone else do so?”

Sejanus gave a puzzled frown.

“What?”

“The equipment shed, on the back lawn.”

“Oh, that shabby thing? I thought that was for gardening. _I_ never went near it. Why should I?”

“No reason, no reason.” Battle sat back and looked at Roberts. “Have I forgotten anything, Roberts?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Very good. Thank you for your time, Mr. Erondites.”

They stood. Sejanus nodded and headed towards the door, but as soon as his hand touched the handle, Battle called out in a casual voice, “Oh, there was one more thing—why did you ask to come to Ephrata this week?”

Sejanus froze, then turned around.

“What? I did no such thing.”

“No? Only Lord Eugenides said you did. He said he had a telegram from you.”

“Yes, but…” Sejanus frowned. “I had a letter from Eddis—put through my door in London. It said he was having a house party with some people I knew from town, and would I like to join them, either on Wednesday the 22nd through the following Sunday or just for the weekend. It said I ought to telegram my response.”

“Must have been a mixup somewhere,” Battle said cheerfully. “No worries there. Thank you again, sir.”

Sejanus’s eyes narrowed, and the door closed behind him. Roberts whistled lowly.

“Which one of them do you think is lying, Superintendent?”

“One or the other,” Battle mused. “Or neither.”

***

The first thing Battle did when he had finished the interviews was to go outside and investigate the infamous equipment shed. They had the door handle dusted for finger-prints and even found a few, but Battle wasn’t optimistic they would lead anywhere. The thing could just as easily be opened with a single, sure kick, and he suspected the prints would be the victim’s own. There was a jumble of things inside, very little of it relevant to a murder case—until his eye fell on the carving that had captured Teleus’s attention the morning before.

Battle leaned down to take a close look. His practiced eye noticed what Teleus had missed, which was that this carving was far too new to be some children’s game. He would be damned if it was more than a week old.

“Superintendent,” Roberts blurted out. “King H on the 25th, no later than 8:00.”

“Yes, good spot, Roberts. I think we can safely say this was the rendezvous point. This mystery may be solvable yet. Come on—let’s do the rooms.”

They went back up to the house. For a great house, the layout of Ephrata was remarkably simple. There was a grand staircase in the middle, culminating in a stained glass window. The drawing room, morning room, dining room, and billiards room took up the four corners of the house on the ground floor, with the kitchen and laundry clustered underneath the steps. Upon mounting the staircase, a visitor would find the library and the bedrooms of Nahuseresh, Kamet Edai, Helend Eddis, and Costis Ormentiedes. On the right were the master bedroom, a lavatory (although three of the bedrooms had been modernized with their own facilities), and the bedrooms of General Teleus, Phresine, Sounis Sophos, and Sejanus Erondites. There was a second floor that had once housed the servants, but it had been shut up. Battle searched it anyway, but found only empty and dusty rooms. They proceeded to the occupied bedrooms.

Each room, Battle thought, was very typical of its occupant. They began with the victim’s room, which was cluttered with fine clothing and accessories, much of foreign make. Nahuseresh was not one to neglect his own comforts. His secretary’s room, attached, was much more modest. He had a suitcase with evening wear and another change of clothes, all along the lines of what he was wearing today, and an attaché case with a handful of pens, an empty ink bottle and two full, a half-empty notepad, his master’s diary, and a big, leather-bound book bursting with loose sheafs. This, Battle judged, was the ancient poetry. He flipped through a few pages and could hardly make out a word.

Costis’s room as a soldier’s affair. Very neat, with most personal possessions kept in a trunk off to the side. There were a few books—novels, a collection of Shakespeare—and a stack of letters, most from his sister but with a sizable minority from what sounded like old Army friends. Roberts was the one who found the service revolver, kept in a case underneath the nightstand.

“Don’t suppose there’s a bayonet about,” he remarked hopefully, and Battle snorted.

“I don’t think so, no.”

Teleus’s room went along similar lines, but with more clutter. Like most of these old military bachelors obliged to let their cottages, Teleus had no faith in his tenant and had taken away many of his personal possessions. In addition to the usual things one brings to a houseparty, there were quite a lot of medals, a bear rug, some photographs in silver frames, and an assortment of small trophies from this campaign or that one. A German pistol, Battle noted, and a stiletto dagger that was of interest. He took that away.

There was comparatively little of interest in either Lady Helen or Sounis’s room. The lady had, as promised, left the note addressing her secretary on the dresser. It included a short list of things that needed to be bought and a criticism of her launderer. Of course, it could have been written at any time, Battle thought, but that couldn’t be helped. There were a few books and a newspaper, and a packet of political documents, but nothing related to the Mede Empire. Sounis’s was much the same, although it was in a state of absent-minded untidiness. He also had a stack of letters tied with ribbon, all from Lady Helen, and a richly decorated revolver.

“I must say, there’s an awful lot of weaponry in this house,” Battle commented when they had moved on to Sejanus’s room. He set aside the case with its service revolver. “Erondites, Teleus, and Ormentiedes on top of that fancy shooting pistol of Sounis’s so far. And us with a stabbed corpse! Pity. No sign of a likely knife yet?”

“I don’t think so, sir,” Roberts said skeptically. “There’s the stiletto from the general and a rather sharp letter-opener from that foreigner, but neither of them seem to match the doctor’s description. I’ve taken them for him to check against the wound all the same. I say, Erondites is a bit vain, don’t you think?”

He gestured at the top drawer of the dresser, which was cluttered with bottles of cologne and hair polish. Battle made a noncommittal noise. He moved next to the briefcase. He flicked through the papers, skimming their contents—nothing jumped out as immediately relevant, but he noted the senders all the same. There was a bank-book and a ration-book, and a diary—he noted, with interest, an evening event hosted at the Mede embassy some weeks back—and a wallet.

When he was finished, Battle set aside the documents and began to inspect the briefcase itself. He was not, by most measures, a brilliant man, but after some decades of police work, he was a whiz at finding hidden compartments and pockets. He patted down the case and searched for loose threads. Finding none, he replaced the contents and moved on to the nightstand and the bed. He knelt and drew something from underneath the mattress. It was a shabby paper packet, not the kind of thing one expected to find in the room of such a fashionable young man. He opened the packet and whistled lowly.

“What’s that, then, superintendent?”

Battle counted out the notes silently.

“Clear three hundred pounds.”

_“What?”_

Roberts had been going through Erondites’s clothing, but he rushed over to take a look.

“Well, I’ll be damned! What’s he need all that for? A half-week up in the country and he brings three hundred pounds?”

“And hides it under his mattress,” Battle said grimly. “That’s worth asking a few questions about, in and of itself—but you know, I think for now we’ll let it be.”

He slipped the packet back under the bed. They went over the rest of Erondites’s room with a fine-toothed comb, but nothing else was quite so interesting. After that, they went into the master bedroom. It was the largest and most comfortable room in the house, with a vanity table and a large wardrobe, an ensuite bath, and a dressing room.

“I’ll take the dressing room, sir, if you don’t mind,” Roberts offered.

“Not at all, if you have a preference.”

“It’s only that that wardrobe there is her ladyship’s, I’d expect, and it never feels right going through a lady’s things.”

“Part of the job, Roberts!”

“I know it, sir, but I feel my old gran shaking her head at me all the same. I usually leave it to my sergeants.”

“Well, lucky _my_ grandmother was more practical.”

He began with the vanity table. There were several expensive perfumes and some makeup—not as much as some other ladies, he thought. It occurred to him suddenly that a hatpin might very well have been the weapon that stabbed Nahuseresh—a good, old-fashioned hatpin, six or seven inches long with a hearty pinhead to grip. There were none in the vanity, though, and when he looked in the wardrobe he found only a few cloche hats and one of those large felt things that looked like a man’s hat, neither of which needed a pin to stay in place, unlike the dainty things that women liked to wear at dangerous angles. Then again, he reasoned, a hairpin could have easily been taken out of a drawer—by the marchioness or her husband most easily, but perhaps one of their guests—used to stab Nahuseresh, and then thrown into the sea. He hoped not, though. Most murderers were very foolish over at least one thing.

There was a sudden exhalation from Roberts, and then a thunk as something was dropped. Battle looked over.

“Everything all right, Roberts?”

“Yes, fine. I’ve just—er—found his lordship’s hands.”

“You what?”

Battle stood and crossed to the dressing room. Roberts was standing by a shelf on which rested a large mahogany box. He opened it for Battle, making sure to keep his head turned away. Inside was a velvet lining on which rested two wooden hands (a fist and a flat hand) and a place for a third. Battle cleared his throat.

“Yes, well… go on, then.”

“Go on, sir?”

“For heaven’s sake, man, this is not a time to get squeamish. They’re made of wood!”

“Yes, but…”

“Oh, forget it. Finish the rest of the closet, then.”

Roberts moved on. Battle picked up each of the false hands. He hadn’t come across one before—not at close range, at least—but they seemed to be well-made. Good solid wood, but light, with a screw base to fit into the cuff. The top layer of the box lifted out. He set it aside. Beneath it were three more sections. In one was a spare cuff, leather, with straps that could go up to the elbow. In one was a metal piece that could be opened and closed to grasp things, and in the last was a metal hook.

Battle picked up the hook and turned it over to examine the edge.

“We’ll be taking this along for the doctor, Roberts.”

“But sir—”

“We’ll write out a receipt, and his lordship has other options.”

He wrapped the hook in a handkerchief and handed it off. Roberts took it reluctantly. They continued to search the room. There was a box of Veronal in the bathroom, but nothing else that seemed relevant to the case—the communications from the guests had all been found amongst Lady Attolia’s papers in the morning room. Again, though, there were pistols. A matching set, with pearl handles, one in his nightstand and one in hers.

“Have you had an outbreak of burglaries in the North Country, Roberts?” Battle asked, exasperated.

“Not at all. I thought it was only Americans who carried guns when traveling?”

“Evidently not!”

All that was left was the housekeeper’s room. Now _this,_ Battle thought with a smile, this was a lady’s room. Lacy curtains, doilies on the dresser and the night-table, and many framed photographs of children on top of those. God-children, and possibly nieces and nephews. There were a few pretty pieces of decorative china, and a good number of simple but elegant dresses.

Roberts went over to the night table. He picked up the small ceramic clock and checked it against his own watch.

“Well, it doesn’t gain. Then again, she could have gotten the time wrong anyway. She’s getting on a bit.”

“I shouldn’t bet on Mrs. Phresine making a mistake. She’s a sharp one—and Lady Attolia doesn’t seem the type to allow sloppiness in her employees.”

“True enough.” Roberts was staring at the window in fascination. The sky outside was much brighter than the day before, and the sun was streaming through the glass. He squinted, then opened the latch and stuck his head out for a moment to look at it from the outside. “Superintendent,” he said suddenly. “Have you got any finger-print powder, by chance?”

“No—should I call up the constable?”

“I think so. Look here—there’s a sort of smudge. I don’t know if there will be good prints on it, but…”

“On the _outside_?”

Battle joined him and peered at the window.

“I’ll be damned.”

“And look here—it’s like Ormentiedes said. There’s a sort of parapet just beneath the window, on both the ground floor and this one. It’s not wide, but—well, it’s possible. Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Battle said. “Yes, I think it’s very possible. Well done, Roberts. Right,” he said, clasping his hands together. “I think we’ve got quite a few things to think about. There’s a few more I’d like to talk to, and then we can head back to HQ and think things over.”

“Right-o, sir. Who first?”

***

“Thank you for speaking to us again, Lord Eugenides. We’ll be out of your hair soon, but I just have a few follow-up questions.”

“Of course.” Eugenides looked around the library. “Is this one of those modern tactics—recreation of the crime? Do I get to play murderer or victim?”

“Neither, your lordship,” Battle said, somewhat sternly. “This is the second time today I’ve been called modern—my colleagues at the Yard would laugh about it. No, I only mean to ask you—does the library look the same as you last saw it?”

Eugenides raised one eyebrow.

“The last time I saw it, there was a dead body in that chair there. So no, I should say not.”

“Of course. I mean, aside from that—the books, the furniture, the desk—do they look the same as usual. I’ve been thinking of whatever Mr. Nahuseresh was working on in his final hour, you see. All the papers we found in his room were dated some time ago, but Mr. Edai confirmed he saw some sheets with writing on them when he brought the victim his coffee. Now, were have they gone? It’s June and there was no fire in any of the rooms, so if the papers were burnt or torn, we would expect to find some evidence of them. No one has left the house, so if they were removed by the murderer, we would expect to find them hidden amongst someone’s things.”

“If they were important, they could have been… well, balled up and thrown into the sea, I suppose.”

“Possibly, sir, although there have been men watching the house since shortly after our arrival last night, which leaves very little time for that to be done undisturbed. Which leaves us with the possibility that the papers are either hidden in one of the bedrooms or common rooms so cleverly that we were unable to find them—or that they never left the library.”

“I see,” Eugenides said slowly. “You think they may have been hidden among my things or—stuffed in an encyclopedia or something.”

“Just so, sir.”

“Well, from here I don’t see anything amiss, but I’ll take a look.”

He did a loop around the room first, stopping only once—a Mede dictionary that should have been on the top shelf was only one the second-highest shelf.

“That will have been Kamet,” he said with a grin. “Couldn’t reach the proper place.”

He handed the book to Roberts, who flipped through it anyway and replaced it.

Eugenides sat down at the desk. He looked through all the drawers—even checking the false bottom of one without shame, and congratulating Battle on finding it—and then began to go through the papers more slowly. Battle watched for a moment.

“Lord Eugenides, is it true you’ve told people Mr. Erondites took a shot at you?”

Eugenides slowed in turning over a page.

“It’s true I said it,” he said casually. “As for whether he did or didn’t, well… that’s harder to say.”

“It’s quite an accusation to be slinging about if you don’t think it’s true.”

“It’s not as if I said that to the _police._ You heard it from either Helen or Costis, and I think complaining to close cousins and devoted valets and expecting them to take your side whether you’re wrong or not is what they’re _for._ And I don’t think I am wrong. People spread out during the shooting, you know, and there was only a small number of men in the direction of where the shot came from. Besides, who invites a one-handed man he hates to a shooting party with good intentions?”

“I don’t know, your lordship,” Battle said. “Who invites a man he hates to a house party with good intentions?”

“I shouldn’t say I _hate_ Sejanus. I heartily dislike him.”

“Even though you think he tried to kill you?”

“Some very fine people have tried to kill me at one time or another, Superintendent. That’s not such a black mark as you might think. Anyway, I told you already, I didn’t invite Sejanus. He invited himself.”

“Mr. Erondites says that he received a note from you, asking if he would rather come up on Wednesday or later. He telegrammed his reply.”

Either Eugenides was genuinely surprised, or he was a truly terrific liar.

“A note from _me_? Can I look at it?”

“He doesn’t have it with him here.”

“He doesn’t have it at all. Maybe there was a note, maybe there wasn’t, but it certainly did not come from me. Or from Lady Attolia.”

“Very well, sir.”

***

“Ah, Costis—glad to have caught you,” Battle said with a cheerful smile as he stopped him on the stair. “Just one question. What was Lord Eugenides wearing last night?”

“Last night, sir?” Costis blinked. “He was wearing a blue evening coat and—”

“No, no.” Battle coughed. “I mean—on his wrist.”

Understanding passed over Costis’s face. Battle watched him closely without seeming to. He had a pretty good idea of what the truth was. He wanted it confirmed, if possible, and he wanted to know if Costis would be the one to tell him. Costis stood a little straighter.

“He was wearing a metal hook, sir. He finds it more convenient.”

“Interesting. He was wearing a false hand when we arrived.”

“Yes, and I expect that was for your benefit, sir. People can be very strange about the hook, that and the sort of hinge one. It unsettles them, like, so sometimes Lord Eugenides will change into one of the false hands if he knows he’s going to be around people who don’t know him well and aren’t used to it.”

“I see. Thank you, Costis.”

***

“I had the kitchen maid set a tray aside,” Phresine said as she placed the tray on the dining room table. “Since you’ve had such a long day at work.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Phresine, that’s very kind.”

She poured tea into three delicate china cups patterned with orange blossoms, and there was a fairly comfortable silence as they settled in. Phresine stirred a lump of sugar and a splash of milk into her cup before sitting back with a warm, peaceful smile. Battle decided that he liked Phresine, and found her a very trustworthy figure, which probably meant she was the most dangerous woman in the house.

Battle set his cup aside and withdrew a slim wooden box.

“I’m afraid we’re going to take your hatpins, Mrs. Phresine,” he said apologetically. “We’ll get you a receipt, and hopefully be able to return them tomorrow. I don’t suppose you know if Lady Attolia or Lady Helen have any in the house?”

“Lady Attolia doesn’t. She dresses very simple up here; she has some hats that need pins, but she finds them very fussy and wears them only in Devon and London. I don’t know Lady Helen’s wardrobe as well, but I don’t think so.”

“Not very fashionably-minded, perhaps,” Battle suggested.

“She’s a political person, and very clever, I believe.”

“Just so. Can you tell me, first—are any of your pins missing from this box?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Very good.” He set the box aside. “Did you send out any of the invitations for the marchioness?”

“No, Superintendent. Lady Attolia made all of those arrangements. She let me know who was coming and when, so that I could arrange the rooms and hire staff.”

He asked a few more questions about how the housekeeper had spent her day. He was hopeful that she might have seen someone go into the equipment shed, since the kitchen, the laundry room, the morning room, and her bedroom all faced that way, but she had not. Then he hesitated for a moment, lingering over a piece of seed cake as he tried to frame his question in the best way.

“Mrs. Phresine. I think that you are a very observant woman, and I believe you know your mistress very well, and possibly some of the other guests who have been friends of the family. You said, earlier, that you didn’t like to speculate about the murder, and that’s all well and good. But there is something going on in this house, Mrs. Phresine, something—not quite right. Someone, or multiple someones, who is hiding something. Not just in the normal way of hiding things that are embarrassing. Someone who is _frightened_ of us being here, and trying their best not to seem frightened. I think, I really do, that there are secrets in this house that everyone knows, except the police. And that makes things dangerous, because a little bit of knowledge can be a very dangerous thing in a murder case. If you know anything, I urge you to tell us.”

Phresine sipped her tea.

“This has been a sad house, Superintendent. Or rather, a sad household. I won’t deny that there are things that the marchioness and her family have seen and experienced that they would like to keep secret, because to linger over the pain the memories would cause is unproductive.” She paused. “Nor will I deny that I think Mr. Nahuseresh was a wicked man. Yes… a wicked man. He enjoyed causing pain to others, and would have caused more if he could. Even so, to murder him was wrong, and if I knew something that would bring his murderer to justice, I’m sure I would do my duty and tell you so.”

“But you won’t tell me what the people here are hiding.”

“I will not obscure the truth. I will not lie. But no, Superintendent Battle, I will not break all confidences as a matter of course—and my conscience is perfectly clear on that front.”

Battle bowed his head silently.

***

“Lady Attolia, would you mind escorting me out?”

“Of course not.”

Her sensible black heels clattered on the stones as she crossed the driveway, her hands folded in front of her and her head tilted down as if she was already thinking about what they were going to say. They stopped by the car. Battle offered the marchioness a cigarette, but she declined.

“Is Inspector Roberts staying here?” she asked in a voice that indicated neither approval nor disapproval of the idea.

“No, no. They’re still getting finger-prints from the rest of the house, and Roberts is only going to stay a moment to supervise. Also, I had one or two questions to ask you—bit awkward—so I thought I’d take a moment to talk with you away from prying ears, as it were.”

“Of course.”

Battle was still for a moment, smoking and looking at her. Lady Attolia, he thought, would make a wonderful murderer. Most murderers were caught because they lost their head. Got nervy, frightened of being caught, and broke the moment they were pushed—or got cocky and wanted to talk too much and never realized they were giving the game away. Lady Attolia could brazen it out. She was clever, composed, and not afraid of silence.

But she had never left the room.

“I wonder, Lady Attolia, if you might tell me what happened with Dite.”

Surprise flashed across her face.

“With Dite? Surely you don’t think—that couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the death of Nahuseresh?”

“Might not. Might not. But it’s come up, and I do think it matters.”

“Well…” She glanced aside for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know where to begin. My father was heavily indebted to Lord Erondites. Worse than that, more than once he invested money at Lord Erondites’s direction that proved to be of no value at all to him and great value to the baron—nothing entirely untoward, you understand. Poor Father had a miserable head for business, and it’s not a crime to give bad advice to a foolish friend. I came into my fortune when I married, at age nineteen, and soon put a stop to all of that, and I think Lord Erondites rather resented me for it. He had plenty of old family secrets in his back pocket, not to mention contacts throughout the business and political worlds, and I’m inclined to think he would have tried to ruin me if he could—except that his son Dite was rather fond of me.”

“Wildly in love with you, as a matter of fact?” Battle suggested. A faint smile curled Lady Attolia’s lips.

“Dear Dite. He loves to be in love, Superintendent. He loves to flirt, to have his heart broken, to write pining poems and sing tender songs while making eyes across the room. I never took him very seriously, I’m afraid. I’m still not convinced I _should_ have. In any case—while there was a chance that Dite could marry me, that an Erondites heir could inherit my fortune and my estates, Lord Eronidtes was content to merely print mean-spirited gossip columns. And then I married my second husband and put a kibosh on the whole thing. Lord Erondites made several thinly-veiled threats and even began to put some things in motion. Very unpleasant. So my husband made several threats of his own.”

“What kind of threats?” Battle asked sharply.

“Nothing at all like stabbing a man in the heart. He merely suggested to Lord Erondites that we knew one or two things about his son that _he_ would not like to see in the newspapers. He doesn’t own all the newspapers in the country, not yet. I gather Lord Erondites confronted Dite, and somehow it was settled between them that it was better for Dite to leave for Italy.”

“That seems like rather harsh retribution, don’t you think? For a friend of yours?”

“Tell you truly, Eugenides and Dite got along very well, and I don’t say that out of naïveté. We were all three on very good terms. Honestly, superintendent, I think everything was settled very well. Dite has artistic tendencies. He likes good clothes and music and sunlight and good company, and he quite detests his father. From his letters, I gather he’s very happy, even if Sejanus isn’t.”

“I see. Would you say your husband is a jealous man, Lady Attolia?”

“Most men are, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

Battle cleared his throat and looked back at the house, addressing his question to the first floor windows.

“There’s, er, one more thing I wanted to ask. Sounds rather delicate. Lady Helen alluded to you being… out of sorts, the night of the murder. She swore it wasn’t relevant—vehemently defended you, as a matter of fact. But I wondered if you would care to offer an explanation.”

“I think I will take that cigarette, Superintendent.”

He handed one over silently, and lit it for her. The blue smoke framed her pale face in a gloomy halo, and she tilted her chin up. _Like an empress,_ Battle thought again, _or one of those old, cruel pagan goddesses._

“I had a late miscarriage last year,” she said in a voice that was quiet, but not weak. “I was—very ill for some time afterward. And one of the things my husband said to me was a proverb of his mother’s. The river knows its time. It comes from a very old poem, as it turns out, and Mr. Edai happened to recite it last night. So yes, it did put me out of sorts.”

“I am very sorry to hear that, Lady Attolia,” Battle murmured, thoroughly abashed.

“Thank you. Are you married, Superintendent Battle?”

“I am, your ladyship.”

“And do you have children?”

“Five. All but one grown—and the youngest very nearly there.”

“How nice.”

Roberts left the house, carrying a box with everything they were to take away to the police station. He couldn’t tip his cap, but he nodded at Lady Attolia, and she nodded back and stepped away from the car. The two detectives climbed in.

“Detectives,” Lady Attolia said suddenly. “Do you expect you’ll find the person who murdered Nahuseresh?”

“Yes, your ladyship, I expect we will.”

“Hmm. I wonder.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning was the inquest, and the room was packed to the rafters with spectators. Imagine, a murder at the marchioness’s house! And a foreign gentleman—stabbed—on such a stormy night! It was really the kind of thing out of a mystery novel or a London paper, quite unusual for their little north country village, and no one wanted to miss a thing. Lady Attolia’s reputation, Battle gathered, was too formidable for the gossipmongers of the village to pop ’round for tea and scandal, but not so formidable that they could resist the lure of an inquest that was, after all, open to the public.

Kamet was the first called on to give testimony. He spoke in a calm, dry voice about Nahuseresh’s arrival at the house, his behavior on the day in question, and his retreat to the library, and discovering the body. Teleus gave his account of seeing Nahuseresh in the equipment shed, and Sejanus mentioned the phone call, although little emphasis was placed on either. Next was Phresine, offering her testimony as to the curious behavior of a light-haired gentleman. The magistrate dutifully stressed that there had been much coming and going around the house, and it could not be certain that said gentleman was the murderer.

Then Dr. Thesiger stood. The magistrate squinted at him.

“Dr. Thesiger, did you examine the deceased?”

“I did. Shortly after 10 o’clock at night, I received a telephone call. I arrived at Ephrata and examined the body at 10:30, and determined that the deceased had passed away as early as two hours before and as late as an hour before—that is, between 8:30 and 9:30. He had been stabbed through the chest with a thin, curved blade.”

“And this was the cause of death?”

“No.”

There was an immediate buzz in the room. Battle started and turned to Inspector Roberts, who merely shrugged.

“There was a surprising lack of blood on the scene,” the doctor continued. “So yesterday, I performed an autopsy and discovered evidence that Mr. Nahuseresh had been poisoned prior to being stabbed. It was an unusual poison, and took some time to identify, but I believe he was killed with an extract of coleus. The coleus plant has several varieties, one of which, _coleus caelus,_ is extremely toxic. Simply by allowing the leaves to soak, one can create a deadly poison.”

“Is it possible the deceased could have ingested this extract accidentally?”

“I would call it extremely unlikely. Coleus has no culinary uses and is a somewhat rare plant in England—not likely to be accidentally planted among the sage bushes in the kitchen garden. Furthermore, it has an extremely bitter and unpleasant taste. It would be possible for him to consume it without knowing, however, if he ate or drank something with a very strong flavor to mask the taste.”

“Can anyone testify as to what Mr. Nahuseresh ate on the night in question?” the magistrate asked. Lady Attolia stood. Her smooth, white face was perfectly emotionless.

“Dinner consisted of pear-and-potato soup, salmon in a hollandaise sauce, roasted new potatoes and boiled carrots, and a cherry trifle. Mr. Nahuseresh also drank an after-dinner cocktail consisting of soda, remchik, and lemon, and a black coffee.”

“Thank you, Lady Attolia.” The magistrate looked to the doctor, who was already shaking his head.

“Mr. Nahuseresh—or, for that matter, the other guests—would have surely noticed the taste of the poison if it had been in his dinner. In my opinion, it is more likely that one of the after-dinner drinks were a vehicle for coleus extract.”

“How long does this poison take to act?”

“Difficult to say. It depends on the strength of the extract. Fresh leaves, brewed strongly, might have had a more-or-less instantaneous effect. A less concentrated dose may have taken two, even three hours.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

There was another round of buzzing about the room. Superintendent Battle was called up. He had little to say about a poison murder and soon stepped down. A verdict was rendered swiftly: muder by person or persons unknown.

***

“This is it, then?” Battle asked, frowning down at a cluster of bushes that clung to the cliff of the little peninsula, in the shadow of Ephrata.

“Aye, sir,” Roberts said, consulting the sketch provided by the doctor. “Our murder weapon.”

“Hm.” Battle knelt and peered at the branches. “Yes, I should say someone’s been at it. Snapped off stems there, some loose leaves crushed underfoot… but no clear footprints, and pity no one’s yet figured out how to get finger-prints off a bush.” He stood again and glanced out over the thrashing sea, then the house that loomed before him. “Clear view through the windows, but I don’t expect we’ll get lucky there. The household is fanatic about their exercise—every one of ’em has mentioned a solitary walk at some point. And there’s a bench here, so it’s only a natural place to stop for a moment.”

“Back to where we started, are we?”

“Not quite, Roberts. Not quite.”

They began to walk back to the house. They were stopped at the door, however, by Lady Helen, who was pacing. She looked up at their approach and gave a thin smile.

“Ah, good. I was hoping I might speak to you, Superintendent, away from the others. Not that it matters anymore, I expect… do you still intend to arrest whoever stabbed Nahuseresh, or is stabbing a corpse not a crime?”

“We have a pretty good idea of what happened there, miss,” Battle said loftily. “But our focus has shifted. The murder, you understand, takes precedence.”

“Yes, of course. Well, all the same, I think I should inform you that Sophos was the tall, light-haired fellow Phresine saw going into the library around 9 o’clock,” she said, perfectly calm and composed. “Only it wasn’t the library, it was my bedroom, and his purpose for being there was… perhaps immoral, depending on one’s perspective, but certainly not illegal.”

“What…?” Roberts began, before turning red and falling into an abashed silence. Helen smiled at him—a warm, congenial smile that would make any man blush—and then at Battle, who coughed to hide his own amusement.

“I see. You did not tell us this in your first interview.”

“No, and I _am_ sorry about that. You see, Sophos, the lovable idiot, took me aside after he spoke to you and earnestly assured me that our secret, and my reputation, were safe—and one doesn’t like to expose one’s fiancé as a liar to the police. I thought to myself that, since Sophos was innocent, it could have no bearing on the crime. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized Phresine had seen him. I didn’t want you to rely on this mysterious light-haired gentleman to be your murderer.”

“Indeed not, Lady Helen. Thank you for the clarification.”

She nodded and turned to go inside—and then paused on the threshold.

“And just to get a headstart on the coming interview… I didn’t poison Nahuseresh, either.” Battle bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Everyone’s gathered in the drawing room. Irene insisted—Phresine is bringing tea.”

“Thank you.”

The two policemen followed her into the drawing room, and Battle was forcefully reminded of his arrival at Ephrata the morning before. Once again, the room was quiet. Lady Helen was sitting on a loveseat with Sounis, whose leg was bouncing so violently that his tea had spilled onto his trousers without his noticing. Ormentiedes was leaning against the mantlepiece, smoking and surveying the group. Erondites stood at the window. Teleus sat straight-backed in a chair like a carved figurehead rather than a live man, while Kamet was stooped slightly, as though he might hide and blend with the rich brocade of his seat. Eugenides was sprawled across a divan like no one else was in the room—except for his wife, perched on the same seat staring sightlessly into the distance. The lone addition was Mrs. Phresine, pouring the tea with grace and poise as though she were in any fine drawing room in the country, rather than a house under the cloud of murder.

Battle cleared his throat, and nine faces turned to his. He paused for a moment.

“Mr. Edai—will you come with us, please?”

“Well—yes—of course, but—but why?”

“We must conduct all our interviews again,” Battle said in a bland voice. “The true cause of death changes things somewhat.”

“Yes, but why me—first? You don’t—you don’t suspect that _I_ —?”

“Am I correct, Mr. Edai, in saying that you alone prepared the coffee and brought it to him?” he asked sternly.

“Well, yes, but—it might not have been in the coffee. The doctor said so, it could have been in the cocktail, couldn’t it?”

“Perhaps, but—”

“He drank remchik with lemon, that’s bitter as anything—”

“Perhaps,” Battle repeated patiently. “But it is one thing to poison a man’s cup in a deserted hallway, and quite another in a drawing room full of people.”

“Why, that’s no argument at all!” Kamet said, an edge of hysteria in his voice. He jumped to his feet. “Eugenides can hardly get through breakfast without doing sleight of hand tricks with soft boiled eggs, and Costis is the size of an ox—who knows what he could have done with his back turned? Or any of them! The remchik bottle was in the drawing room all day and no one else drinks it—any of them could have slipped the poison in at any time. And they all _wanted_ to. They may pretend to be such pleasant, sensible people, so put-upon in the face of an odious guest, but let me tell you, they _all_ have a motive. I kept all his records—I _know_.”

His eyes blazed as they surveyed the group, as still and silent as a mound of stones.

“Do you know why General Teleus had to let his cottage, superintendent? Because he lost nearly a thousand pounds in an investment orchestrated by Nahuseresh, as payment for the part he played in exposing Nahuseresh’s war schemes. Mr. Sounis was very nearly swindled out of his company when his uncle died, and don’t let his innocent fool act sway you, because I’ve heard from no fewer than six eyewitnesses that he drew a pistol at a board meeting to keep it! And Lady Helen—Nahuseresh bankrolled her opponent in the last election, and when that didn’t work, he began snooping around for a way to blackmail her, and I daresay he found one.”

“Steady on!” Sounis said sternly, rising to his feet even as a blush overtook his face. Helen reached out to touch his arm.

“He was three hundred pounds flush this week! Three hundred pounds and I haven’t the slightest idea where it came from! And now the Erondites family, they’re up to their necks in Mede politics, which are rather more cutthroat than English politics, if you take my meaning—” He looked to Phresine, who was next, and her gentle face creased in a smile. “Granted, I can’t think of a particular reason why Phresine would kill Nahuseresh, except for her fanatical devotion to Lady Attolia, and once you’ve decided to look the other way at a wife murdering her husband, a mere houseguest doesn’t cause much trouble, does it?”

There was a frigid pause. No one would look at Lady Attolia now.

“And me, Kamet?” Eugenides said placidly. “I do hope you haven’t forgotten me.”

“Due respect, my lord,” Battle said with a cough. “Your antagonism towards Nahuseresh is well-known.”

“Oh, yes. But I rather think Kamet might allude to something other than our little tussle over my lady.”

He looked at Kamet expectantly. They exchanged a look for a moment, and then Kamet squared his shoulders and looked to Battle.

“Nahuseresh cut off his hand.” He swallowed. “So while I understand that you will need to interrogate all of us again, superintendent… might I suggest you begin with _him_?”

He fled the room. Battle let him go; he doubted the secretary would be so foolish as to leave the peninsula, but if he did, the constable would stop him. In the meantime, he was reconsidering his opinion of the people before him. Battle had never liked dislike as a motive, it was true—nor revenge for a four-year-old scheme that had ultimately failed. He had toyed a bit with jealousy, but Kamet had just provided him with a litany of much more recent and serious schemes, and suddenly revenge was looking much more plausible. He cleared his throat.

“Roberts, we ought to have that bottle tested for poison and finger-prints,” he suggested, gesturing at the crystal-cut bottle of clear liquid that sat, unobtrusively, on the bar cart.

“Yes, sir.”

“And we will need to re-interview everyone,” he said. “Lord Eugenides, perhaps we could start with you.”

“I appreciate the narrative symmetry, superintendent.”

Eugenides moved to stand, but Lady Attolia maintained a vice-like grip on his wrist.

“My husband declines to answer any further questions without his solicitor,” she declared.

“That won’t be necessary, my dear.”

She ignored him and turned to Phresine.

“Phresine, I’ve already wired Relius to come up. Please call the Crown and ask if he’s arrived.”

“Irene. I am perfectly capable of speaking to the superintendent without getting myself hanged.”

She turned and glared at him, and Battle was startled at the expression on her face. Popular knowledge held that Lady Attolia had entered marriage reluctantly, that it was a last-ditch attempt to avoid bankruptcy by attaching herself to a rich but embarrassing man. But now, at the first hint of real danger, Battle saw that this was incorrect. The marchioness loved her husband fiercely. Her steel-grey eyes shone with such devotion that it was almost frightening...

“Very well, my lord,” she said in a frosty voice. She stood. “Will the morning room suit, superintendent?”

“Yes, thank you, your ladyship.”

Strictly speaking, he should have interviewed husband and wife separately, but he was curious to observe this new, unexpected dynamic. Let them talk—that had always been Battle’s motto. People revealed a shocking number of things, intentionally or unintentionally, if only you let them.

They retired to the morning room. Lord Eugenides took out a cigarette, which Battle politely offered to light. He lit a smoke for himself, and waited, with his cow-like gaze fixed on the couple before him. After a minute, the lord sat forward, and the impish, irreverent expression was gone. _Not nearly as foolish as he likes to seem,_ Costis had said. Battle had gotten glimpses of his cleverness, here and there, but this was the first time he saw true intelligence in his face.

“Here is the truth, Superintendent: during the war, I went to the Mede Empire to spy on Nahuseresh and Irene at the bequest of Home Office.”

Roberts whistled.

“Is that so?” Battle said slowly.

“It is. My father, as you know, is very well-connected in government, and our estrangement is… more or less fictional. There was a falling-out, some years ago, over the precise nature of my career, but the fiction has been maintained because having an estranged father in the government is really a wonderful background for a spy. Officially, the Medes were to be our allies in the war, but we had a pretty good idea that the PM and his brother were getting rich off of aiding the enemy, and there was some concern Irene was collaborating with him.”

“Which was incorrect,” Irene interrupted in her cool, soft voice. “I won’t deny that Nahuseresh poured money into some of my investments when I needed it badly, but it was purely on speculation. The resources and information I led him to believe I possessed never truly materialized. And, of course, as I already told you, he was investing in my affairs with the ultimate goal of robbing me blind.”

“I understand,” Battle assured her. “Naturally, I’ll have to confirm this with my own contacts—but I can’t imagine they’ll be secretive when they know you’ve already given me the gist of it. Do go on.”

“At one point, I broke into Irene’s room to go through her things,” Eugenides admitted unabashedly. “I got caught. Irene agreed with Nahuseresh that I should be punished in the usual way, not realizing that it meant losing a hand—so not quite the dashing war injury I’ve lead the public to believe in, I’m afraid.”

“It is not the usual way even for Medea,” Irene protested. “They hadn’t cut the hand off a thief in this century, but Nahuseresh thought that the government would be disinclined to make a fuss over the wayward son of an official caught rifling through a woman’s room. And of course, Home Office didn’t want to reveal his true purpose, so they simply drew up false service papers and sent Eugenides home.”

“But I couldn’t give up. I was thoroughly in love with Irene by then—” A pink blush touched the lady’s cheeks, and she cast her eyes downward. “—and I couldn’t stand the thought of Nahuseresh winning. So, the dastardly plot was foiled, the enemy retreated, the lady and I went home—and, I swear to you, we heard not a peep from him in all these years.”

“Come, come, my lord. Mr. Edai has just told us of Mede interference with Sounis Arms & Auto Works. Surely you must have run into him then, the two of you being such friends.”

“I knew of it, yes, and I gave Sophos some advice, but I never went to London or contacted Nahuseresh about it. He was rather in the background of that coup.”

“And how did he come to be staying at your house?”

“Ah,” Eugenides said grimly, and the marchioness took up the narrative.

“We seem to be remarkably popular hosts this summer,” she said dryly. “We usually have Helen down this time of year—usually to Devon, but we were quite weary of it and moved to Ephrata for a bit of peace. She still wanted to come, and then she asked if we wouldn’t mind including Sophos in the invitation, which of course we were happy to do. Then Teleus let out his cottage and hinted a bit until we asked him to join us, and then we received requests from Nahuseresh and Sejanus. All quite bemusing—until we received a visit from certain associates of my husband’s father.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, Superintendent, but there has been talk of unrest in the Mede Empire lately. They have a nominal democracy, but there is a push to limit the powers of the emperor even further. The opposition is led by an official named Hemsha. He’s quite popular among the lower classes and the more liberal-minded elite, and the British government is hopeful about the effects his reforms would have on the international stage. He wrote to an official requesting support—discreetly—and it seems that both the letter and a drafted reply, including some strategical suggestions, were stolen from the London office. We believe Nahuseresh was attempting to purchase them on behalf of the Mede government. Needless to say, this would be disastrous for the opposition and British interests in the region. However, the safe where the papers were kept was quite obviously broken into—which means that, if we were to intercept the handoff, the Crown could prosecute both buyer and seller for theft. The idea was that a set of forged documents would be swapped out for the real ones, the court being none the wiser. Home Office has reason to believe this house was selected for the handoff—we suspect at Nahuseresh’s suggestion, but we can’t be sure.”

“And you have no idea who the seller is?”

“No, worst luck,” Eugenides sighed.

“The theft occurred the evening of a gala at the Mede embassy, which no doubt you have already heard of, as Nahuseresh, Sejanus, and Helen were all invited guests. Sophos was also there, as Helen’s date, and Kamet was there with Nahuseresh for at least part of the evening. The office is only two blocks away. Teleus was staying with our solicitor, Relius, who is his good friend and lives within an hour’s train ride to London. And of course, any of them—or Costis or Phresine, for that matter—could have received the papers from an accomplice. Common sense suggests it is not Kamet, who could have given them to Nahuseresh at any time or location, and our own inclinations would rule out Helen—Home Office has never had a moment’s doubt in the Eddis family. But even that is speculation only.”

Battle thought, with sudden clarity, of a coded message carved in an out-of-the-way shed and three hundred pounds hidden underneath a mattress, and thought he might have an idea.

“We didn’t find any trace of papers like that in his things or anyone else’s. Of course, they may have been taken afterwards and either hidden or destroyed. But I hope you appreciate, your lordship, that this changes my murder case _entirely_.”

“Yes, and I am frightfully sorry about that. I thought that, if I were to tell you straight away, naturally it would get out among our guests. There is still the possibility, however faint, that we might find the thief and recover the Hemsha papers, you see. Based on Nahuseresh’s behavior during his visit, we are quite certain he was here to purchase them. Especially,” he added with a wry grin, “now that Kamet has informed us he traveled here with three hundred pounds.”

“I see,” Battle sighed, sitting back. “And now, in addition to half the party having revenge as a motive, any one of you could add either patriotism or greed to the list. And I’m afraid all that talk about your movements in the evening is quite useless. If the coleus is to be found in the remchik, Mr. Edai is correct—anyone else could have poisoned it at any time.”

His gaze fell on the marchioness, whose mouth tilted up in a faint smile.

“Including you, Lady Attolia.”

“Including me,” she agreed.

“I expect that’s why you stabbed him, my lord?”

For a moment—but a moment—Eugenides looked astounded, and Battle was able to revel in having outsmarted so clever and so cocky a man. Then his grin came back, irrepressible as the sun.

“Ah. Worked that out, have you?”

“Very sharp, that hook of yours is. And if the room was locked from the inside, the obvious place to exit is the window, where one might also accidentally tap the window of a bedroom or be spotted swinging down on the drainpipe near the billiards room. Quite impossible for the average man, but for one who prides himself on galivanting around like a trapeze artist in a circus…”

“Yes, well. Instinct, I’m afraid. I was looking about Nahuseresh’s room, intending to replace the real Hemsha papers with the forgery, only I couldn’t find them. I meant to poke my head in the library, see if he was perhaps copying them—and what do I find but a dead man and no papers. Oh, by the way—the notes Nahuseresh was working on the night that he died are hidden in a very thick and practically unreadable history of the French kings in the library. I don’t know if Constable Waynflete has found them yet, and I apologise for making work for him.”

“I can thank you for that, at least. But I don’t understand the _instinct_ to stab the corpse and obscure the cause of death instead of calling the police.”

“I am quite the ne’er-do-well. Terrible disappointment to my father.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you had other concerns.”

Ever so slightly, Eugenides had tilted his body, orienting himself towards his wife. Battle turned his gaze on the marchioness.

“Lady Attolia, how did your first husband die?”

***

The drawing room was empty, except for them. Phresine had excused herself to see to the laundry. Teleus had murmured something about returning to his room, and Sejanus had simply gone. Sophos paced the room for a moment. Twice he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. Helen waited.

“Helen—”

“Yes?”

“I don’t suppose… I mean. There’s nothing to what Kamet said, is there?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He said a good many things, and who knows, one of them may very well be the murderer’s motives.”

“But—there’s nothing in what he said about _you._ I mean, he wasn’t trying to blackmail you?”

She laughed, and he blushed.

“Darling Sophos. Whatever would Nahuseresh blackmail me over? A mysterious love affair? Being a violent revolutionary, perhaps, or accepting bribes? Does that sound at all like me?”

“No,” he said, abashed. “No, of course not. I’m sorry. Stupid of me—worrying. And anyway, it’s not as though…”

He fell silent. He shrugged and sat beside her again, and they sat in the quiet room together, neither choosing to acknowledge the fact that she had not actually said “no.”

***

Phresine splattered droplets of water over the cotton in front of her and set the iron down to the hiss of steam. With practiced movements, she drew the iron down and up, wiggling it to smooth the tip over seams and tricky creases. They had hired Eileen on to help with the laundry, but she had come up after the inquest, all in a dither, and protested that she could never come into a house with a poisoner. She always was a silly girl. Never mind. Phresine rather enjoyed doing laundry—as long as it wasn’t too much or too often! It was a good chance to clear one’s head. To lay thoughts flat out and put them in the proper order.

Maybe she was being too hard on Eileen. No doubt she was silly, but she was just a girl, and only so much of that could be helped. And there was something different, something rather more ominous, about a poisoner. You could always convince yourself that, were a man to come at you with a knife (or a woman—why shouldn’t a woman be just as capable in that regard?), you would see the knife ahead of time, you would notice the sudden swing of his arm, and you could fight him off just like a hero or heroine in some cheap thriller at the cinema.

But poison—now poison was more subtle. You could down a fatal dose of poison and never know it. And it _was_ true—they did say, in the newspapers and things—that most people who died of poisoning hadn’t been given curare or anything so exotic, so the mystery wouldn’t remain long. There were few untraceable, undetectable poisons these days. Arsenic was still by far the most common, and the police knew just what arsenic looked like. But really, what consolation was that to you if you were dead?

She set the iron down and folded the dress. The next thing she had to iron was linen; she turned down the heat and waited for it to cool.

Coleus, now… she hadn’t heard of many coleus poisonings in newspapers. She would never have heard of it at all before today, if it weren’t for— well. Anyway, Dr. Thesiger himself said it was rare. Probably more challenging to detect than more common poisons. And more likely to be tasted by the victim, too, because it was so bitter….

Phresine stilled in the act of lifting the iron. She stared off into the distance for a moment as a memory crossed her mind. The day before the murder. Friday night. Cocktails again, after dinner, and when she had commented about not being in the cocktail habit, Lord Eugenides had quite pressed one upon her, eyes twinkling in that impish way that made his so endearing and so maddening all at the same time. But the drink had been so horribly bitter. She had taken two sips, and even now the memory made her mouth twist in a grimace. Lord Eugenides had very gallantly relieved her of her glass and poured her a little drop of sherry instead.

Nonsense, she thought, bringing the iron down again. (Linen did wrinkle so—such a difficulty, in the summer.) Of course she hadn’t been poisoned. If she had taken coleus, she would have been gravely ill, or worse. She had been more tired than usual that night, but perfectly _well._

Phresine smiled wryly to herself as she shook her head. Really. Here she was, as superstitious as a parlour maid. She could not let herself grow silly in her old age.

***

“That was a rum thing to do.”

Kamet stood on a cliff overlooking the sea. He glanced over his shoulder to see Costis approaching. His shoulders were hunched against the wind and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“It was all true.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to do it in front of everyone, did you? Could have taken the superintendent aside.”

“Everybody in this house knows each other’s business already,” Kamet said shortly. “I don’t see how it made any difference.” It was a warm day but the wind was cold, and he wrapped his arms around himself.

“You didn’t tell him my motive.”

“You don’t have a motive.”

“Like hell I don’t.” Costis took him by the shoulders and turned him around. “I’m in love with you, and he treated you like hell, and I would have done just about anything to make you free of him!”

“Oh, don’t,” Kamet said. “Please stop, for God’s sake.”

“Why shouldn’t I say it? You know. We spoke of it the other night.”

“A temporary madness,” the secretary said bitterly. “For a moment—for just a moment, when I put down the cup and he didn’t even bother to look at me—for half a moment I was _free._ But don’t you see now that it was all wrong? It wasn’t him, it was the poison already starting to do its job. And it could have been any one of us. It could have been _you_.”

There was a long quiet, then, as Costis examined him with shrewd eyes. His voice, when he spoke, had a weird note in it that Kamet didn’t recognize. Calm, but laden with meaning in a way that made him shiver.

“I would have,” he said. “For you, I would have.”

“No, not for me. For _them_. This house is like a garden full of weeds. If you rip one up, all the others would come away with it—so you all twine yourselves together too tight to let that happen. Well, I won’t get twisted up in it. I simply won’t.”

He brushed past Costis and walked back towards the house.

As he slipped inside, a curious calmness settled over him. The house was quiet. He heard voices from the drawing room, but none of them paused at the sound of the door closing—he was careful. As silent as a proper servant should be. Some days he wasn’t so sure if he loved or hated this trait, but today he loved it. The ability to disappear, to turn invisible and slip away and be unobserved. Superintendent Battle would be busy with the lord, the constable was watching the exterior of the house, and the rest of them were loud and obvious and under scrutiny. Kamet could slip away and have a cup of tea and a bit of peace.

He went into the kitchen—it was empty, Onarkus having gone to the market himself when the maids refused to come in. He set the kettle, and took down his little tin of imported tea. He waited in comfortable silence for the kettle to boil. He liked these English kitchens, he thought idly, with their black-and-white tile and the garden just outside the window… the humming of the bees blending with the bubble of the kettle. The library, of course, would be better, but—

Kamet shivered. The kettle began to whistle and he leapt up to pour the boiling water over the leaves. And as he stared down at the porcelain cup, he thought of the cup he had set down in front of Nahuseresh. He had paused, waiting for something—a thank you or even an order—and gotten nothing, because he was nothing, because he was as useful and unimportant as the chair on which Nahuseresh sat or the pen in his hand. Hatred had sprung up in him—a surge of pure hatred…

And then he had left the room, closed the door behind him, and seen Costis across the hall, and hatred had turned to triumph. Dear, sweet, stupid Costis. The groundskeeper’s son who was rather keen on poetry, even if it didn’t rhyme. Yes—Costis would take him away somewhere, and they could be two anonymous ex-servants, but Costis would look at him in _just_ that way, as if he were the only beautiful thing in the world.

Costis, he gathered, had not told the superintendent about the muddled conversation in which Kamet had tried to convey these sentiments, nor the kiss he himself had stolen afterwards. Of course not. How could he? Kamet had likewise kept his silence. Difficult, though… he could only keep so many secrets, tell so many lies. No wonder the superintendent had made a beeline for him after the inquest. But that should all be sorted now...

 _My book,_ he thought. _I can’t go into the library, but I ought to have my book._

He took the servant stair up and ducked into his bedroom without encountering a soul, although he heard the faint murmuring of Lady Attolia’s cool voice through the morning room door. Explaining it all away, he thought dryly, as he knew she would. He took the leatherbound volume off his bedside table and returned to the kitchen, comforted by its presence. A sigh escaped his lips as he lifted the cup of tea. He took a sip, and his mouth twisted in a grimace. The leaves had steeped too long—it was bitter.

Very bitter…

***

The door to the morning room burst open with a bang, and Battle was on his feet before he knew what he was about. Mrs. Phresine stood in the open doorway. His first reaction was surprise—Phresine didn’t seem the type to go around banging doors—and then concern. Her face was pale.

“Oh, Superintendent! It’s Mr. Edai—he was in the kitchen and I heard him cry out—he’s very ill—you must come.”

“What?” Lord Eugenides blurted out. He darted out into the entryway, followed quickly by Battle, Roberts, and his wife. Kamet was sitting—had collapsed, more like, into a chair in the hall, one hand pressed to his chest as he drew in labored breaths. “Good God!”

“What’s happened?”

Lady Helen and Sophos rushed in from the drawing room.

“Has he been—?”

Battle hastened to Kamet’s side and leaned down.

“Tea,” the secretary rasped. “Tasted—wrong—”

“There now, Mr. Edai, you mustn’t try to talk,” Battle said firmly. “You’ve got to be silent now and put all your energies into taking nice deep breaths, and we’ll get you to a doctor.”

Kamet nodded, but before Battle could put any of these words into action, he was being shouldered aside. Costis Ormentiedes had crossed from the front door in a few long strides, and hauled Kamet to his feet with no apparent effort.

“I’m taking him to hospital,” he announced.

“Constable Waynflete will drive,” Battle said sharply, unwilling to leave a victim of attempted murder alone with a suspect, no matter how gallant he might seem.

Costis agreed without issue. Kamet clung to his arm with a vice-like grip, and they made it together through the entry hall as there were more footsteps from upstairs, more loud questions, and several offers of assistance that when entirely unnoticed. Lady Attolia’s clear voice rose over the rest.

“Costis,” she called. “Take him to Dr. Petrus—he’s closest—and tell the doctor he’s to have a dose of epinephrine to aid in his breathing. Nerotizoine is the antidote for coleus if the doctor has it, and if he doesn’t, Kamet should be taken straight on to the hospital.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

The door closed behind them, leaving a complete and total silence. Lady Attolia turned to Superintendent Battle and lifted her chin.

“I repeat, Superintendent—my first husband died of food poisoning. I know the antidote to coleus poisoning because my grandfather ensured I would not poison _myself_ accidentally when I was a young girl running around Ephrata. I could also tell you how to treat someone who had ingested holly berries or deadly nightshade.”

“I understand, your ladyship,” the superintendent murmered. On the steps, Sejanus took two steps closer to the landing, and Battle cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “Given the circumstances, I think it is time for us to search the house once more. It would be best if everyone were to remain in the dining room until the search is ended. In addition, I would ask each of you to consent to a search of your person.”

There was an outburst of protest, but Battle remained firm. Roberts led the guests to the dining room, while Battle telephoned the police station. He wanted a policewoman to come and search the ladies. He set down the telephone and remained in the hallway, thinking deeply.

After a few minutes, Roberts came back.

“I’ve taken initial statements, sir,” he said. “Lady Helen and Sounis stayed on in the drawing, and they claim they never left—then again, they would say so, wouldn’t they? Mrs. Phresine says she took the tea things back to the kitchen and saw Edai talking to Ormentiedes outside, but then she went into the laundry room and didn’t look again. She didn’t hear anything from the kitchen except the kettle whistling and Edai calling for help. General Teleus and Mr. Erondites both say they went up to their rooms. They saw each other go in, but didn’t see or hear anything after that.”

“Very good, Roberts.”

“There’s something else, sir. Mrs. Phresine says the tea Edai likes is special. He brought it himself and kept it in the kitchen. Some of them say they knew about it and some didn’t, but I reckon any of them who had a look would know that it’s for either him or Mr. Nahuseresh, because it’s got foreign writing on it.”

“I see,” Battle sighed. “If liquid coleus was added to the cup, then it was added by someone who went in to see Edai and slipped it in when his back was turned, or if he ever left the room. A very limited window. If leaves were added to the tin of loose tea…”

“Then it could have been anybody,” Roberts finished. “Any time. He doesn’t drink it every day, because they take from the normal stash for tea. Could have been put there before the murder, maybe.” He sighed. “Seems like we’re starting from the beginning again.”

“Not quite the beginning, Roberts. We know why Nahuseresh was killed and how, and now we know what we’re looking for. And I have an idea about where we should start.”

Roberts gave him a knowing look, and together they mounted the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

The doctors gave Kamet something to help him sleep that night, and he didn’t stir until late morning. Costis paced and talked with the constable and called the house twice to provide updates. Mostly he sat in a chair at Kamet’s bedside and waited. He looked at Kamet’s wan face on the pillow, and when that got to be too much he looked at the book on the bedside table and wondered why it was here. It had been tucked under Kamet’s arm when they found him in the hallway, and he protested when Costis tried to pry it away in the car. He had his suspicions, but he didn’t want to think about it too closely.

Finally, there was a faint groan, and he jerked his head to find Kamet awake and, in fits and starts, trying to rise. Costis leaned forward.

“Don’t overexert yourself. You’ve been poisoned.”

Kamet laughed weakly as he propped himself up on the pillows.

“I don’t think a career in diplomacy would suit you, Costis.”

“Funny, you calling me stupid when you’re the one who made all those silly accusations and got yourself poisoned right off.” He drew his chair closer. “The doctor says you would be well enough to leave once you’ve woken, but you’re not to tire yourself. You were damn lucky not to have been killed—you’ve _got_ to rest.”

He wondered if his face looked half so upset as he felt. Kamet stared at him for a long moment.

“You were really frightened.”

Costis looked around. There was no one nearby, so he picked up the small brown hand resting on the starchy hospital bedspread. Kamet let him. He held it in both of his and kissed it. Kamet let him do that, too.

“I was,” he said simply.

Kamet stared at their joined hands for a moment.

“Where would we go?” he asked.

“What?”

“If we were to go away somewhere… assuming the superintendent doesn’t intend to put one or the other of us in chains at the nearest opportunity… where would you take me?”

“Roa,” he replied, determined not to question it too deeply even as his heart fluttered. “It’s a small island in Greece, where my parents lived before they came to England—I was almost born there. I know all about it. We’d get a little cottage somewhere overlooking the sea, and have it all to ourselves. You’d have peace and quiet to write your book, and I’d have… well, I don’t know what I’d have. More sunlight than England, I can tell you that much. And plants, and a good bit of land to explore—and you. That’s all I want.”

“And you would go? You’d leave everything here—your family and your home and your job?”

Costis swallowed.

“Yes. If you’d let me.”

Kamet looked at him thoughtfully. The he smiled. It was a genuine smile, beginning small and stretching across his face, and his dark chestnut eyes shone with delight. He hadn’t been so happy, Costis thought, the entire time he had been at Ephrata, and pride kindled in his heart for being the cause of it.

“I wouldn’t let you. Not forever. For a little while, though…”

He looked over Costis’s shoulder and withdrew his hands. Costis sat back, clearing his throat.

“Good morning, Superintendent. Inspector.”

“Good morning, Mr. Edai,” Inspector Roberts said with a nod.

“It’s good to see you well. And how are you feeling?”

“Much better, Superintendent, thank you. Costis tells me the doctors might see fit to release me soon.”

“That is excellent news. You may have already guessed, but I can confirm for you that shredded coleus leaves were found mixed with the tea in your tin. I gather you were the only one who drank that particular blend?”

“Yes,” Kamet said, voice trembling. “It’s from the Mede Empire. They don’t sell it over here, so I buy it whenever we visit.”

“It all seems very straightforward, then. Possibly someone slipped into the kitchen after you made your accusations, or really any time after the murder, on the off chance you knew too much. I don’t suppose anyone was in the kitchen with you?”

“No, but I did go upstairs for a moment while the leaves were steeping.”

“There were no finger-prints on the tin, I’m afraid, except your own.”

“So… so you may never know who…?”

“Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Edai, I think we’ve got a very good idea,” Inspector Roberts said, rocking back on his heels. “A very good idea indeed.”

“Now, we don’t mean to disturb you, but if you’re feeling up to it—we’ve got hold of the papers Mr. Nahuseresh was working on the night he died. They’re all written in Mede, as it happens, and I were wondering if you might be able to translate them for us.”

Costis frowned. He couldn’t rid his mind of the memory of finding Kamet on that chair. Those horrible, gasping breaths, as close to a death rattle as anything. Kamet’s voice still sounded weak, even with the antidote. He sat up straighter.

“I don’t think the doctor would like—”

“Really, Costis,” Kamet brushed him off. “If I’m too tired to translate a simple letter, I’m too tired to be alive.” He reached out and touched his arm. An innocent enough gesture, in front of the detectives, for all that it sent Costis’s heart racing. “But I am very thirsty. If you could find a nurse and get me some water…?”

“Yes, all right.”

Costis stood. He hesitated at the doorway, and gave a hard look at the two detectives looming over the figure in the bed. But there was nothing to be done about it, and he left.

***

Superintendent Battle stood just inside the drawing room at Ephrata, surveying the group before him for the last time. There was a palpable feeling of anticipation in the room, as heavy and dense as fog. He took his time before he spoke, assessing the faces and sorting through his thoughts. His grey moustache quivered as he opened his mouth.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “This has been a very unusual case, unfolding over the course of several unusual days. In light of the confusion you have experienced, and the fear you may have felt for your own lives, I feel obliged to give you an accounting of the facts before an arrest has made. They are not very typical of a murder case and may take some time to explain.”

“No surprise,” Teleus muttered. “You haven’t even found who stabbed him, let alone poisoned him.”

“Oh, that was me,” Eugenides said, absolutely unconcerned. There were exclamations of shock and surprise from the men. Lady Helen merely sighed.

“Of course it was.”

“But I only killed him the once, so I think we should all move on.”

 _“Move on?”_ Teleus repeated incredulously. Superintendent Battle cleared his throat.

“Please, General. I’d like to lay out the facts for you all. This is a tricky story, and if we get hung up on one detail or another, we’ll never get to the proper end.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Superintendent. Go on.”

“Yes.” Battle paused. “The truth is, the murder of Mr. Nahuseresh was put into motion by events far from here and quite long ago—for our purposes, they began when the marchioness, Lord Eugenides, and then-Ambassador Nahuseresh met in the Mede Empire. But the _immediate_ catalyst was the theft of some papers from the British Foreign Office in London three and a half weeks ago. The _exact_ nature of these documents, I will not discuss. Suffice to say, they could be used to cause significant damage to a political minority in the Empire, and that the Foreign Office is eager to recover said documents. They were stolen on a night the building was almost empty, with many officials—and several of you—in attendance at a gala, just a few doors down, at the Mede embassy. You were there, were you not, Lady Helen?”

“Yes,” she said calmly. “I was, with Sophos.”

“But we never left,” Sophos added. “We arrived in the first half hour, stayed until midnight, and then my driver took Lady Helen and then myself straight home.”

“They won’t be able to verify that, darling,” Helen said without looking at him. “There was an absolute crush of people there—no one could swear to seeing someone all through the night. We will been out of sight for a little while, at least, and while we may have simply gone to the lavatory, or stepped out for a cigarette, or gotten lost in an upper corridor somewhere, there will be plenty of room for doubt.”

“Very true, Lady Helen, although you are not the only ones under suspicion. Mr. Erondites and Mr. Edai were also at the event, I believe, and General Teleus not far from London. In any case, the thief then contacted the Mede Embassy with an offer to sell these documents, which have become known as the Hemsha papers. The ambassador couldn’t afford to be a part of these negotiations himself, so instead he turned to Mr. Nahuseresh. A former ambassador, related to both the emperor and the Prime Minister, who could undoubtedly be trusted to take on the task but was not as much in the public eye. The thief wrangled an invitation to Ephrata, where the exchange could take place in safety and obscurity, and encouraged Mr. Nahuseresh to write a letter to Lady Attolia, a woman he knew socially, and secure an invitation for the same weekend.

“A telegram was sent afterwards, giving Mr. Nahuseresh the precise date on which he was to leave the money, and a symbol he was to look for that would indicate the drop spot. He left three hundred pounds in the equipment shed, early in the morning of Saturday the 25th. He returned again, after luncheon, and found the Hemsha papers. From there, he went inside, where Mr. Erondites has told us he put through a telephone call to the Mede Embassy. That afternoon, we believe, someone went into the drawing room and poisoned the remchik bottle.”

“But why?” Sophos asked with a slight frown. “If the murder was inspired by this sale of the documents… well, if the thief and the murderer were one and the same, why should they change their minds about Mr. Nahuseresh in the course of a single afternoon? And if they were two different people, why should the murderer not try to steal the papers back? There were several days left to try.”

“A very good question, Mr. Sounis. The answer lies with these.” Battle held up a sheaf of papers. “Later that night, Nahuseresh went up to the library to write a letter to his brother and to make notes on the political uses of the Hemsha papers. He was writing these notes when the poison took hold of him, and he died.” He cleared his throat. “Shortly after his death, Lord Eugenides, who was informed of the sale through his contacts in the Foreign Office, _did_ attempt to steal back the Hemsha papers. In the course of his search, he discovered the corpse, stabbed it, and hid the notes in an effort to delay the investigation long enough to find the papers before their existence was made public.”

“Oh, Gen,” Lady Helen sighed.

“And you haven’t arrested him yet?” Sejanus drawled.

“No, Mr. Erondites. In light of the circumstances, Scotland Yard will decline to prosecute Lord Eugenides for interference with an investigation, and it is not a crime to stab a corpse.”

“It’s _not_?” Costis asked, incensed. “It ought to be!”

“Shut up, Costis,” Eugenides said.

“The notes were recovered yesterday afternoon,” Battle pressed on. “They were written in Mede, and while an official translation will be prepared for trial, in the meantime we presented the letters to both Lord Eugenides and Mr. Edai, who are fluent in Mede. They independently confirmed the gist of the notes. The belief was that the Hemspha papers were stolen because they could be used by the pro-emperor faction to attack the anti-monarchy left—and of course, Prime Minister Naheelid would be his uncle’s first line of defense. But these notes suggest that that is _not_ the case.

“According to my own contacts, in recent years the emperor has been behaving quite erratically, lashing out at foes and allies alike. Behind closed doors, the Prime Minister is becoming increasingly concerned, to the point where he might even consider usurping the throne. This letter informs the Prime Minister that the Hemsha papers contain information that can be used both to destroy the reformers, and also weaken public support for the emperor. To kill two rival parties with one stone, as it were!

“Therefore, it is my belief that the thief had ideological reasons for stealing the papers as well as monetary ones. He made a tidy profit on the side, but he had no intention of helping the Prime Minister orchestrate a coup. And so, when he learned of Nahuseresh’s treachery, he drugged the remchik. Nahuseresh’s knowledge of the papers’ contents would never pass to his allies, and the murderer could either destroy the papers entirely or find a more grateful recipient.”

The room was silent for a moment as they inhabitants looked at each other, furtive glances from under their lashes.

“Well?” Sejanus asked. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Superintendent.”

“Very well,” Battle said gravely. “Sejanus Erondites, I hereby arrest you in the name of the King. You are to be charged with the murder of Khusrau Nahuseresh and the attempted murder of Kamet Edai.”

For a moment, his handsome face went blank with shock. Then he smiled. 

“Preposterous. Absolutely preposterous. Why would I kill Nahuseresh? I was the only one of our party who actually liked the man.”

“Oh yes, you liked him for a time. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’—is that not how the saying goes? There has been a strong enmity between your family and the Lady Attolia’s for years, so of course you would be inclined to view Nahuseresh as an ally in that regard. Your father once found it very agreeable, to have a marquess in his debt. He finds it even more agreeable now to have an emperor in his debt. He has invested heavily in the Medean crown, and a strong centralized government—headed by a new young emperor, perhaps, whose brother has succeeded him as Prime Minister—would be of no use to him.”

“I absolutely resent the accusation. My father is a peer of the realm and a _highly_ respected figure in this country, and to think that I would commit murder over the—petty squabbles of some sandtrap halfway around the world—it’s absurd! And I’d never heard of these Hemsha papers before, let alone knew what he was going to do with them.”

“I think you did know, Mr. Erondites. I think you knew about the papers for quite some time, and I think you learned of Nahuseresh’s plans when you overheard him make that telephone call to the Mede Embassy on the afternoon of the murder. You have plenty of time to read them over yourself, after the theft, and even the slightest thing—a lie about their contents, an off word—may have aroused your suspicion.”

“Preposterous,” he repeated. Even so, he was beginning to look perturbed.

“You have already admitted you were in the drawing room for some time in the afternoon, with no witnesses to see you poison the bottle.”

“I did no such thing, and you have absolutely no evidence.”

“We have this, sir,” Inspector Roberts said, holding up a packet of notes. “Three hundred pounds, cash, which Mr. Nahuseresh brought to Ephrata, and which we found hidden in your room the first afternoon we arrived.”

“Three hundred pounds? Nonsense. I don’t have three hundred pounds in my room. And even if I have, what does that prove anything? It’s not a crime to be rich in England, yet, is it?”

“No, sir,” Battle said. “But to be in possession of the murder weapon is certainly evidence of a crime.” He held up a small blue vial. “Again, Inspector Roberts found this vial among your things during our first search. There is only one other set of finger-prints on it, which will match yours. And upon our second search, we thought to open it and check the contents. The lab will have to confirm, but—it is coleus extract.”

“It’s not,” Sejanus declared triumphantly, leaping to his feet. “You’re wrong. That won’t prove anything, because it’s—”

He fell silent. His face went blotchy red, and he slowly turned and locked eyes with Eugenides. There was a moment of suspenseful silence. Eugenides’s mouth turned up in the faintest, mocking smile.

“Damn you,” he hissed. He sighed and turned to Battle, lifting his chin in defiance. “Very well. I’ll admit to one crime, though not the one you’ve accused me of. The substance in that vial is lethium. A sleeping drug. I was damn tired of—of _that man_ making a mockery of my family when this house is up to its ears in scandal and everyone knows it. So when I got the invitation to come up, I thought I’d make good use of it. I looked through the library and the morning room, and when that didn’t work, I spiked Eddis’s cocktail with lethium when he wasn’t looking so I could go through the bedroom.”

“When was this?”

“Friday evening.”

There was a soft inhalation of breath. Battle glanced at the assembled witnesses but could not tell who had made the noise. Phresine’s hands were clasped, white-knuckled, in her lap.

“I suppose he’s got a drug habit, or something,” Sejanus continued. “Or I didn’t bring enough lethium. It didn’t work. I tried to go through the room the next afternoon but I couldn’t get the damn door—Sounis nearly caught me.”

“A very unique defense, sir, but I’m afraid it will be proven false. Lethium is almost entirely odourless, while pure coleus has a very distinctive smell.”

He took the cap off the vial and held it out. There were only a few drops left, but even so there was an acrid smell, like green wood put to flame. Sejanus’s face went from crimson to white. He fell heavily into his chair. For a moment, the only sound in the room was his heavy breathing. Then he looked up, straight at Eugenides.

“You’ve done this,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how—but you’ve done this.” Then, incredibly, he smiled, the rueful smile of a good sport. He stood and took one more deep breath. “Very well, then. I know when I’m beaten. But don’t think that applies to you, Superintendent,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “I’ll have all the best lawyers money can by, and when this is over, I’ll expect an apology.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Mr. Erondites, as I tend not to arrest men who aren’t guilty. But we’ll see, sir, we will see.”

Constable Waynflete stepped forward and produced a pair of handcuffs, which he put on Sejanus’s wrists. He murdered the familiar caution and they strode towards the door. Just before he crossed the threshold, Sejanus turned.

“Hang on—where are these blasted papers, then?”

That was one mystery Battle had not quite solved, and he tried not to let dismay or chagrin show on his wooden face. The second search of the house had not revealed the Hemsha papers; they would have to go through everything again with a fine-tooth comb and perhaps start tearing down walls to find them, it seemed. He had assumed that Sejanus would be withholding that information to use in his benefit at trial.

There was a long minute of silence. The energy in the room shifted—Battle couldn’t pinpoint how, or when, but over time the sense of waiting came to rest with one individual. He, too, turned to look at Kamet Edai, whose knuckles were white as he clutched his poetry book. Costis, sitting beside him, gently pried it out of his hands, and the secretary sighed. Costis let it fall open, revealing three folded pieces of paper, crisp and neat in the midst of the shabby scraps of translation. He handed them to Superintendent Battle, who stared at them in shock.

“My dear Mr. Hemsha,” he murmured, reading the salutation. “I’ll be damned.”

“Nahuseresh gave them to me to keep in my satchel that night, just before we went down to supper,” Kamet said. “He knew Lord Eugenides wouldn’t care a whit about going through his own things, but I was… beneath notice. I put them in my book the next morning.”

“Why?”

“Well, you _have_ gone on and on about how the murderer was the one who sold the papers,” Sejanus said impatiently. He lifted his hands in the cuffs. “Perhaps you might be wanting these back.”

“Why would I come to this out of the way place, with nearly a dozen witnesses, to sell papers that were meant to be a secret?” Kamet shot back. “We lived in the same flat. But I didn’t have any idea about the theft, I swear it.” He looked at Battle. “I didn’t even have time to read the papers before dinner. I read them the next morning and realized what they meant. It’s no use, a man in my position going back to the Mede Empire. A member of the imperial family was murdered—poisoned—and me the only servant with him. I’d be guilty by default, and I don’t mean arrested and given trial, I mean one moment there and the next _gone._ I thought—I thought if I could produce the papers afterward, I could leverage them to stay, somehow.”

“Of _course_ you’ll be allowed to stay,” Helen said firmly. “There’s no question of it—if anyone gives you the slightest bit of trouble, tell my office and we’ll make arrangements.”

“Even so, Mr. Edai, I’ll be keeping these.” Battle folded the papers again and slipped them into his breast pocket. He looked at Constable Waynflete and nodded, and the constable led Sejanus Erondites out of the room. Battle held his hands behind his back. “That’s that, then. I’d like to thank you all for your cooperation—those of you who _did_ cooperate,” he added meaningfully, looking at Eugenides, who grinned. “And I trust that you will be discreet with the information that you learned here today.”

“Of course, Superintendent,” Teleus said, lifting his chin. “Soul of discretion.”

“Excellent. Goodbye, then.”

There was a murmur of farewells. Phresine stood to escort him to the door.

“It’s a long train ride to London, Superintendent. Can I get you something before you go?”

“No, thank you.” They stopped just outside the door. Battle looked over the grounds, at the wild little wood, and up at the stone edifice of the house. The salt wind blew, tugging at the brim of his hat. He turned to face her. “Just tell me, Mrs. Phresine.” He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “Have I discovered _half_ the secrets of this household? A quarter?”

Phresine gave a well-bred chuckle, and her blue eyes sparkled.

“You’ve done your duty, Superintendent Battle, and no one can ask any more of you than that.”

***

The next morning, Kamet packed. He started with Nahuseresh’s things. He had no idea what would be done with them—forwarded to his family, possibly, or shipped back to the London flat to be dealt with from there—but that was no longer his concern. He packed them up for the last time and banished them from his mind, and moved on to his own humble suitcase. Sensing a presence in the room, he looked up to find Lord Eugenides leaning against the doorframe. He nodded a silent greeting and went back to his work.

“Packing?”

“Yes.”

“Back to London?”

“Only for a day, until I can find passage to Roa. It’s a little island off the—”

“I know where it is.”

“A nice quiet cottage for a few months. Fresh sea air, sunlight, books. It’ll do me good.” He paused. “Costis is coming with me, and you won’t give him any trouble over it. He hasn’t had a day’s holiday since he started working for you—I believe he’s more than earned it.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Eugenides picked up an empty ink bottle from the pile of detritus on the bedspread and flipped it over his fingers. “Have you told him you murdered Nahuseresh? He suspects, of course—but does he _know_?”

Kamet thought about denying it. His hands stilled and his eyes fixed on the repeating diamond pattern on the inside of his suitcase, and he thought of all the outraged phrases he could use. Then he turned, as composed as could be expected.

“How long have you known?”

“From the moment I found him,” Eugenides said simply. “I could see he was dead of coleus poisoning. Not a soul in this house would kill him with coleus, except perhaps Sejanus, and it was too much to hope that the man I was framing for treason would have planned to commit murder that same weekend.”

“Ah. There _were_ rumors, you know… started by Lord Erondites, I would guess. He was there, wasn’t he—when your wife poisoned her first husband?”

“Yes. And you would have let her hang for poisoning Nahuseresh, too.”

“She was never going to hang. She talked herself out of it once and she would have done it again.”

“Would she have talked herself out of poisoning by coleus? _He offered her a glass, Kamet._ He offered her a glass of poison and you didn’t say a damn word.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kamet snapped. He snatched the empty ink bottle away. “The poison was in the coffee. It didn’t go into the bottle until later that night—when you offered me a drink and I went over to the cart myself.” He sat down on the bed and swallowed, willing his face to remain calm. “You’re not going to tell anyone?”

“Anyone meaning Costis, or Superintendent Battle?”

“Either. Both.”

“No, I won’t.” Eugenides sat opposite him, in the chair that was the room’s only other furniture, and crossed his legs, looking perfectly unconcerned. “It suits me fine to have Sejanus put away for murder. He _did_ try to murder me once, by the bye. He lifted a gun, pointed it at me, and pulled the trigger, and not a soul noticed except me. Not the kind of thing you can prove. Framing him for treason was a sort of revenge.” He cocked his head, considering. “Well, that’s not true. The Baron Erondites has the Emperor of Medea in his pocket. Exposing one iota of his misdeeds is a public service, not only a revenge.”

“You stole the papers in the first place,” Kamet said. “You invited Sejanus up here and hid the three hundred pounds in his room.”

“And saw him pour lethium in my cocktail, and slipped it to poor Phresine instead,” Eugenides said, very agreeably. “And Sunday morning, my wife would have woken to discover some of her valuable earrings missing, and the police would have arrived to search the house and unraveled the whole dastardly plan between the baron’s son and the prime minister’s brother, until _you_ dropped a horrid murder on my doorstep and forced me to improvise.

“It was a bit tricky, I’ll have you know, substituting the last of the lethium for coleus. But leaving no fingerprints is easier when you’ve only got one hand. You just sort of clamp the bottle shut with the marvelous metal device developed by our good NHS, and there you are. It was really marvelous luck,” he mused. “That, and scampering over the walls twice in one night and barely being seen. I haven’t scampered quite like that since I lost my hand, you know, especially not on a plain building like this. I must have some sort of god on my side—not the good Anglican God, I mean. One of the old ones from my mother’s people, those fellows who always get into the most absurd adventures and have improper bedfellows and whose morals always seem frightfully out of line with modern sensibilities.”

“He really will hang for it, though,” Kamet persisted. “The murder. No one was going to hang for it, in my plan.”

“I doubt he’ll hang. My esteemed father will whisper a few words about what use he might be alive, his expensive barrister will rant and rave about what a patriot he was, and he’ll be given a comfortable sentence of life imprisonment. And in a few years, who knows? Maybe he’ll get even less. He’s a very likable fellow.”

Kamet looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to breath for really the first time in several long months.

It had been so easy, to begin with. Nahuseresh had been invited to a house party, hosted by some rich young peer who reluctantly agreed not to evict his uncle, an aging amateur botanist, from the house when he inherited. The poor fellow was quite housebound, and shamelessly ignored by all the guests, except Kamet, who sat with him and looked over some very old books and samples sent to him by obliging friends, and occasionally agreed to a little walking lecture through the greenhouse.

“Coleus caelus!” the botanist had declared, beaming over a small bush with three-forked emerald leaves, shot through with jade. “A curious little plant—you’ve heard of it? Called the coward’s leaf by the ancients, because instead of defeating one’s foes in battle, one could simply slip a few coleus leaves into the wine. Really, soaking the leaves in water for just a few days makes a horribly effective poison. Good thing it’s so rare here, eh?”

And then—he turned his back and without even thinking, Kamet extended his hand and plucked a few leaves from the plant. He had slipped them into his pocket and told himself it was pure intellectual curiosity, and then he had stored them in water and carried them back to London and told himself they were a kind of insurance policy. He wouldn’t _use_ them, of course. Not until he had to. And then he told himself he had to, and he had watched as he carefully poured the extract into the empty ink bottle, as if it were someone else’s hands doing the job.

Lucky, that there was coleus on the peninsula, because he had used up most of it on Nahuseresh and poured all the rest into the remchik bottle. He wanted to take no chances. Lucky it had worked, lucky Costis hadn’t seen him pluck more leaves before he came out to the cliff, lucky that that one sip hadn’t done its job…

He shuddered. That part had been even less pleasant than he expected.

“Are you going to tell Costis?”

There was a heavy pause.

“I think he should know,” Eugenides said slowly. “Whether I think it’s my place to tell him…” He shrugged.

“He’ll never trust me again.”

“He lied for you, you know. He told the police he’d heard Nahuseresh speaking in the library after you left. This was when they all thought he’d been stabbed, of course.”

“That doesn’t matter. Twenty years could pass, and every time I handed him a cup of tea in the morning, he’d wonder.”

“Why did you kill Nahuseresh?”

“Because I was—trapped,” he said, the words bursting from deep inside of him. “Fifteen years of my life, more, trapped with a man inclined to violence and cruelty and no way out. I was sure he’d ruin me if I even thought about leaving. And then—then I heard about the Hemsha papers, and I found the money in his things and realized he would ruin me anyway. I would never be trusted by anyone of worth if it got out. I had the poison ready, but that was what spurred me to use it.”

“That and the fact that you thought my wife’s past would be an excellent cover.”

Kamet gave a sheepish shrug. He couldn’t deny it. Eugenides shrugged back.

“Costis won’t ever trap you,” he said simply. “And he won’t hold it over you, and he’d cut off his own hand before he’d think of ruining you. Just like I would never steal my lady’s family heirlooms to hand off to my mistresses or terrify her maids. None of us can do the moral thing all the time, Kamet. We can be good people, as best we can, and those who love us will love us anyway, and we simply must trust them.”

He stood and went to the door.

“I’m not in the habit of trusting people,” Kamet admitted.

Eugenides looked back with a dazzling smile.

“You’re a clever man, Kamet. You’ll learn.”

***

Irene stood at the door of Ephrata and lifted her hand in an elegant wave as the last of her guests departed. Helen and Sophos waved from the back of the lone taxi in town, which was to take them to the train station and from there to London—the same trip that Kamet and Costis had taken the night before, although for the former that would be the end of the journey, and for the latter only the beginning. Even Teleus had gone, resolved to stay at the Crown for a few days with Relius for company, to given his host and hostess a bit of a break. Everyone, he thought, could use a bit of a break.

A sigh escaped her lips. She heard the scuff of gravel beneath boots and knew that her husband had appeared. He touched a hand to her back.

“Well here we are, my lady. Alone at last.”

“If you ever do something so unspeakably foolish again,” Irene said without looking at him. “I will cut off your other hand myself, and I don’t care if your father complains.”

“Yes, dear,” said Lord Eugenides meekly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! I had a LOT of fun writing this fic. It was incredibly challenging, trying to weave in canonical details that would give the reader context so certain things didn’t come entirely out of left field, without making it obvious, while also juggling things the detectives wouldn’t know/needed to find out/couldn’t find out. It was GREAT fun reading comments along the way and hearing your speculation, and I’d be happy to hear your thoughts on the ultimate solution! Did you guess? Did it seem Christie-ish? (For that matter I'd be curious how many of you are Christie fans and what your favorite mysteries are!) Did it seem QoT-ish? Let me know, and thanks so much for reading my very last pre-Return of the Thief fic....


End file.
